"Mon, Dieu! dear doctor, you have only to
try, and you will very soon find. Play, if
you like, on your own account; I bet on you;
the luck will be yours."

The doctor did not wait to be asked twice;
he sat down to play, and again had a wonderful
run of good fortune. In no time he had won a
hundred louis.

"Decidedly, 'tis you who bring me luck,"
said Andréas to his partner. "But enough for
this evening; I have need of rest. I hope these
gentlemen will excuse our 'coming Charlemagne.'*
To-morrow, if you wish, we will try
again; and I expect you will help me to beat
my nephews hollow, and so cure them of their
Iove of play. If you can manage that, doctor,
it will be one of the best things you ever did in
your life."
* Faire Charlemagne, slang for leaving off after
winning.

More through the temptation of so capital a
run of luck than through pure philanthropy, the
doctor was punctual at the rendezvous. He
presented himself at the usual hour; the nephews
had arrived already. Not to neglect his medical
duties, he felt the patient's pulse; and finding
it all right, was perfectly ready to recommence.
As before, the: card-table was drawn close to
the invalid's bed, and they began playing.

To plunder the poor doctor the more
expeditiously, they allowed him at first to win a few
louis. This voluntary loss, which in the Greek
vocabulary is called amorçarge, "baiting the
hook," allowed the sharpers to increase the
stakes, in order to attain their real object more
speedily. As soon as there was no more coin,
but bank-notes only, on the table, the luck
suddenly changed. The doctor, hitherto favoured
by fortune, experienced a succession of severe
reverses. At the close of the evening, he and
Andréas had lost thirty thousand francs each
(one thousand two hundred pounds). Of course
there was only a single victim; Andréas's losses,
which were merely a lure, were repaid in full
by his confederates.

They concluded that the doctor had had a
sufficient bleeding, considering his moderate
fortune; moreover, they were afraid that, by
overdoing the thing, some police-court catastrophe
might happen to them. Next morning,
consequently, the invalid, finding himself sufficiently
recovered to travel, paid the doctor's bill, and
got out of the town as fast as he could.

The middle-class Greek, otherwise called the
nomade Greek, because he is ubiquitous, is the
connecting link between the high-life swindler
and him of the vulgar gambling-house. But the
  link is a long one, of great extent, and graduates
by imperceptible shades into either extremity of
this world of freebooters. The nomade Greek
rarely does business alone; he enters into
partnership with confederates called Comtois, who
are mostly other Greeks whose talents, fortune,
and respectability are on a par with those of
their associates. But according to
circumstances, and in case of need, these worthy
individuals change their parts and play Comtois, turn
about. They have also female auxiliaries, styled
Amazons, of whom they make the most dangerous
use, and who are their steady companions
through good and through evil, in prosperity
and in dishonour. These creatures, mostly very
handsome, attain a degree of depravity at least
equalling, if not surpassing, that of their lord
and master.

The nomade Greek is far from possessing the
ability and the polished manners of his Corinthian
colleague; neither has he that fineness of
touch, that delicacy of execution, which renders
cheating imperceptible. Notwithstanding which
he is exceedingly clever in the conception of his
perfidies, as well as in the manipulation of the
different tools of Greekery. In his hands, cards,
dice, and dominoes become formidable instruments.
All games, simple or complicated, are
made to serve his purposes. Be it whist,
bataille, backgammon, or heads and tails, he is
ready with the means of turning the game to
his own advantage. The dupes of this Greek are
as varied as they are multitudinous; he picks
them up in every place. For him, nothing is
sacred; not even his nearest relations, nor his
most intimate friends.

Three Greeks of this class, associated for the
exercise of their profession, separated, each in
his own direction, in search of dupes. One of
them, a young Italian surnamed La Candeur,
perhaps on account of his astute address,
announced one day to his other colleagues that he
had just discovered a young man of good family
newly arrived in the capital. This young gentleman
was rich, prodigal, and fond of play; in
short, everything that could be desired by the
three Athenians. The Italian, moreover,
informed them that his provincial friend was going
to the Opera that very evening.

So plump a pigeon was not to be lost. They
immediately arranged their plan of attack, and,
as soon as all the details were settled, they
separated, agreeing to meet at the Académie de
Musique. At the appointed hour, the three
Greeks were in the saloon of the theatre, and
had not long to wait for the youthful
capitalist's arrival.

The Italian accosted him, and then presented
his comrades under names borrowed from the
nobility, after which they walked about and
chatted, until the conversation became so
interesting, that they remained together the whole
of the evening. The three Greeks were
excessively amiable; the youth of good family,
delighted with his new acquaintance, invited them
to supper at the restaurant of the Maison
Dorée. The proposition was accepted with
pleasure. The repast was worthy of the Amphitryon;
nothing was spared to entertain such
agreeable guests in suitable style.

To prolong the pleasure of this happy meeting,
cards were mentioned; the idea was
adopted by acclamation. While the tables were
being placed, the three rogues managed to hold
a further consultation, and, on La Candeur's
proposition, they agreed that, to draw out the