For several seconds, which seemed long and tense to Mary, the wheel
revolved, the ivory ball dashing wildly around until the croupier
proclaimed in his calm, impersonal voice: "Rien ne va plus!" Some people
reluctantly ceased their feverish staking of louis, notes, and
five-franc pieces, but others dashed on money up to the last instant.
The wheel slackened speed; the ball lost momentum, and, rolling down the
slope, struck one of a lozenge-shaped row of obstacles. It rebounded,
almost sprang out of the wheel, hesitated over a pocket, and leaped into
the next, where it lay still.
"Vingt-quatre, noir, pair et passe," announced the calm voice.
"Twenty-four! My age and my ticket number! I meant to stake on it!" Mary
cried out aloud in her excitement. "Now it is too late."
Her regret was so keen as to be agonizing. It seemed that a serious
misfortune had befallen her. Something in her head was going round with
the ball. She felt as if she ought to have won all the money lying
there on the table, as if she had a right to it.
People who had won and were having their winnings paid to them were too
busy to notice what went on behind their backs; but some of those who
had lost and had nothing to do till the time to stake again, tittered
faintly and craned their heads round to look at the girl who was almost
crying because she had not staked on twenty-four, her age. But Mary did
not realize that she was the object of any one's attention, for the
statuelike woman in black was shrilly insisting that she had had the
maximum, nine louis, on the number 24.
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