A strange golden haze floated before Mary's eyes. She could not see
through it. She tried to tell herself, as the big wheel spun, that this
was not important at all; that it did not really matter what happened:
yet something inside her said, "It's the most important thing in the
world, to win, to win, to make all these people envy you. It isn't the
money, it's the joy, the triumph, the ecstasy."
The ball dropped. Mary could not look, could not have seen if she had
looked: but her whole soul listened for the croupier's announcement.
"Vingt-quatre, noir, pair et passe."
She trembled all over, as if she were going to fall. She could hardly
believe that she had heard aright, until Madame d'Ambre exclaimed close
to her ear: "You have won! I told you that I would bring you luck!"
The actress, petulant with persistent ill fortune, got up muttering, and
pushed back her chair. Mechanically Mary dropped into it. A pile of
money, notes and gold, was moved toward her by the croupier's rake.
People were staring. She was young and beautiful, and evidently half
fainting with excitement. Besides, she had won a large sum. It was
always a good thing to win on a number _en plein_. But to win the
maximum on a number! That somehow did not often happen except to Russian
grand dukes and American millionaires.
Mary, confused, and quivering like a struck violin, took her winnings,
but, supposing all the money on her side of the table to be hers also,
earned by the nine louis, began gayly to gather in with small,
white-gloved hands everything within reach.
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