Zora held her breath.

The marble found its compartment at last, and the croupier announced: _"Dix-sept, noir, impair et manque."_ She had won.

A sigh of relief shook her bosom.

Not only had she not lost a stranger's money, but she had won for him thirty-five times his stake.

She watched the louis greedily lest it should be swept away by a careless croupier--perhaps the only impossible thing that could not happen at Monte Carlo--and stretched out her arm past the bland old lady in tense determination to frustrate further felonious proceedings.