A murmur arose. The banker was having the luck of Satan.
"He always protects me, the good fellow," laughed the banker, who had
overheard the remark.
Again we staked, again the hands were dealt. Our tableau or end of the
table won, the other lost. The croupier threw the coins in payment. I
let my double stake lie, and so did Anastasius. At the next coup we lost
again. The banker stuffed his winnings into his pocket and declared a
_suite_. The bank was put up at auction, and was eventually knocked down
to the same personage for fifty louis. The horse-headed Englishman
cried "_banco_," which means that he would play the banker for the whole
amount. The hands were dealt, the Englishman lost, and the game started
afresh with a hundred louis in the bank. The proceedings began to bore
me. Even if my experience of life had not suggested that scrupulous
fairness and honour were not the guiding principles of such an
assemblage, I should have taken little interest in the game. I am a
great believer in the wholesomeness of compounding for sins you are
inclined to by damning those you have no mind to.
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