The young man was from the South--though a South very different from
this. He had the warm blood of Virginia in his veins, and just so much
of the gambler's spirit as cannot be divided from a certain recklessness
in a man with a temperament. He had seen plenty of life in his own
country, in the nine years since he was twenty, and he knew all about
roulette and _trente et quarante_, among other things desirable and
undesirable.
Still, gambling seemed to be made particularly fascinating here, and he
wanted to be fascinated, wanted it badly. He was in the mood for the
heavy hush of the Rooms, for the closeness, and the rich perfumes, which
mingling together seem like the smell of money piled on the green
tables; he was in a mood for the dimmed light like dull gold, gold
sifted into dust by passing through many hands.
He had got his ticket of admission to the Casino, after arriving
yesterday evening; but the Rooms had not pleased him then. He had not
played, and had merely walked through, looking at the people; but now he
went to a _trente et quarante_ table, and reaching over the shoulders of
the players--not so many as in the roulette rooms,--he put a five
hundred franc note on _couleur_.
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