She began to make imaginary stakes.
For five coups in succession she would have won.

It was exasperating.

There she stood, having pierced the innermost mystery of chance, without even a five-franc piece in her purse.
A man's black sleeve pushed past her shoulder, and she saw a hand in front of her holding a louis.

Instinctively she took it.
"Thanks," said a tired voice.

"I can't reach the table.