Sometimes I see a comic incident—the
table laden with gold and covered with
billets, and the croupier touching each
with the magic rake, repeating aloud the
sums staked. " L'or va au rouleau!"
(This always in a growl, as who should
say, " We have you.") " Vin-sang louis au
bilyet!" (This in a mournful manner of
expostulation, as who should say, "Why
not all the bilyet?") And " Mœtyez à la
masse!" (This very sharp and short, like
the click of a trigger before firing.) An
humble fellow has laid down his double
Frederick, a good stake, but modest, seeming
more than it is among the surrounding
magnificence. The dealer is about to begin,
when, in a fit of compunction, the man
calls out, "Moitié à la masse!" and causes
a perfect roar in the gallery. Yet these
men had their hundred and two hundred
louis, their " maximoom" even, depending
on the deal. So they laughed and
went to play, when the guillotine was at
its hardest work.

The gardens are getting dull enough; I
grow tired of the regularity of the music,
coming at that one hour. Yet there are
people who stay here the whole winter.

A letter from my pet, lying on the table,
waiting for me. Very long and full of
news. I shall paste it in this place.

"MY OWN DEAREST ALFRED,—God in his
infinite mercy be thanked and praised, for
the delightful news each one of your dear
letters brings us. Such unhoped-for blessings
from Homburg, and, indeed, shall I
confess it, when I parted from you, I had a
horrid, miserable, presentiment, that it was
to be the last time I was ever to see that
dear face again. I did not let you know
the agonies I was suffering. For it was for
your own dear health, though I had not
the least hope that it would be benefited.
But thank God that it is so. Now I shall
say no more on that.

"How charming, how amusing, how interesting
is your diary, dearest Alfred! I
have read no novel that comes near to it
for interest. So acute, so full of observation,
such a knowledge of human character.
It brings the whole scene before me; these
dreadful people, and that terrible play, and
what a picture! it comes back on me at
nights in dreams, and I see their distorted
faces, and the agonies of the poor creatures.
And to think of these wicked, cruel, creatures
fattening on the innocent! Such life
and character, it is too graphic. That figure
of the tight-laced man walking about is a
portrait, and so is that of that cold-blooded
Mr. D'Eyncourt. I have read it over two or
three times to our little darlings, at least
the portions they are likely to understand,
and they laughed so. Mr.——, our dear
friend and benefactor, was greatly amused,
and said in a joking way, we should see
you turning gambler yourself, you were so
violent against them. He took their part
and said they were no more than a registered—
just like any of our railway or
banking-companies, who took the money of
widows and orphans, and there was nothing
said about it.

"Oh, how strange, how wonderful your
meeting Grainger. Poor Grainger! I suppose
I may call him now. Indeed I feel for him,
and you can tell him so from me, for I have
much to reproach myself about him. I was
very foolish then and thought that amusing
myself with gentlemen was the most
entertaining thing in the world, as you
said once to me, ' having a number of the
scalps hanging at my waist.' Do tell
him I hope he has quite forgiven me.

"Dearest, I write the above for you to
show to Grainger. Do not, I conjure you,
offend him in any way, for I know, which
you cannot know, he never has forgiven
me, or never will forgive me. I saw enough
of him to know that he is vindictive; and
indeed he threatened, the very last interview,
that he would live to punish you, and
me, through you. This, indeed, is making
me most uneasy, and I do wish he was not
there, or you away. But there is only ten
days more, thank Heaven; so be very kind
to him, or if you see that is no good, keep
him at a distance."

My poor little Dora! What a wonderful
head it has, peopled with nightmares. Let
me point out to her the inconsistency of
her previous little advice:

"Be very kind to him, and keep him at a
distance." She must send me a recipe for
this mysterious double duty; for, for the
life, I don't know how to begin it. There
is a smack of the country town in it; but
I am afraid for the world its little advice is
not of the soundest. Dearest, affection is
your strong point, outside that charmed
circle, I am afraid—but I won't say any
more.

"Mr. B—— joins me in this warning.
He says that everything that you have
written about Grainger bears out what I
fear. The man is trying to get an influence
over you for ends of his own. He says it
is transparently clear, and is going to write
to you himself to be on your guard. He