"Why an ambo?" returned Laudadio, fiercely.
"I tell you my terno is certain—certain!"

By this time all hope is over for the majority
of the crowd, and the silence for the drawing of
the fourth number is by no means so general.
Now for it. "56."

A long deep breath came from the old gambler's
chest with a sound almost of a groan, and
he closed his eyes for a minute. "But it will be
all right, I tell you," he said, angrily, as if his
companion had maintained the reverse. "I
tell you it is sure. It can't fail me now. It
can't!"

And now for the last number—the cast of
fortune that was to make all safe or all lost. It
was a tremendous moment for the old man. The
music and the voices sounded strangely in his
ears, as if they were far off. Now, silence!
Now!

"Twenty—NINE!" shouted the officer.

For one short moment, as the syllables
"twenty" reached his ears, the unhappy old
man had imagined that all was well with him.
Then came with a roar, as it seemed to him, of a
mighty tempest wind rushing through his ears,
and crushing him to the earth, the fatal sound
that hurled him from the summit of his hopes
into an abyss of misery.

"What a pity it was not an ambo," said Sestini,
not dreaming that the disappointment was a
greater or more important one than the veteran
gambler had a thousand times had to bear. But
the revulsion was too terrible for old Laudadio's
over-excited nervous system. After gazing for
a moment with a fixed glassy stare into his
companion's face, his long attenuated body swayed
to and fro like a tall tree whose foot the axe has
nearly severed, his gripe on the cavaliere's arm
relaxed, and he fell in a dead swoon on the
flagstones of the piazza.

Poor little Sestini was extremely shocked and
frightened. The crowd of course formed a ring
round the prostrate figure of the old man, whose
hat had fallen off, and whose long white locks
were straggling over his livid face. For a
moment they thought that he was dead. But the
heaving of his chest soon indicated that he had
but fainted. Many of those around knew old
Laudadio Vanni, the jeweller on the Ponte Vecchio,
and understood perfectly well the cause of
his present trouble. "Poor fellow! he will have
been playing high!" said one. "He's one that
the Madonna owes a good terno to before he
dies!" remarked another. And Sestini, with the
aid of three or four of the nearest bystanders,
proceeded to carry him to his house on the
neighbouring bridge. He probably had regained
his consciousness before he reached his home.
But his eyes remained closed, and he suffered
himself to be carried by those who had picked
him up. The fatal ticket remained clutched in
his hand, and having been taken from it by
Sestini, after those who carried him had placed him
in his chair and departed, sufficed to tell very
shortly the whole facts of the case.

And the remainder of our story may be told
almost as compendiously.

Carlo took the matter very much more coolly
than Laura had dared to hope. He said that
such things were necessarily to be expected from
lottery playing, and—that a new lock, to which
he would see himself, must be put on the strong
safe.

Sestini remarked that there were few heads in
Italy, save that of his friend, who could have
discovered within one the very numbers to be
drawn for a terno. And Laudadio observed that
loss in the lottery was number 90.

The marriage took place duly on the Sunday,
despite the loss of Godpapa Sestini's dower.
And the business-like Carlo and his artist wife
have long since ceased to feel the need of such a
sum.

Old Laudadio lived several years after the loss
of his last great stake. Did that miscarriage
serve to open his eyes or cure him of his malady?
Any one who is doubtful on such a point has
happily little knowledge of the insanity in
question.

The present writer has had an interview with
Laudadio Vanni. It took place one bright and
frosty moonlight night on the "Ponte Trinita."
It was late, and there was no other person on the
bridge. The striking but shabby-looking old
man, courteously lifting his hat, addressed
himself to the deponent, and stating that he had
something of importance to communicate,
proceeded to propose a partnership enterprise in the
lottery; the conditions to be, that the deponent
should furnish the funds for the purchase of a
ticket, while he, Laudadio, would supply
numbers dreamed of by him, and warranted to
win.

The deponent, deeming the old man no better
than a self-conscious and designing swindler,
punished him by saying that he approved
perfectly of the scheme, only that he would prefer
to reverse the parts. But had he known the
history, which he learned on mentioning his
rencontre to some Florentine friends, and which
has been set forth in the preceding chapters,
he might probably have treated the old lottery
dreamer more gently.

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS.
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copperfleld," &c.
Now publishing, PART XII., price 1s., of
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.