As every one knows, the summer is not the season at Monte Carlo. It is the winter when the place is filled to overflowing with foreigners. Then the eye is satiated with ravishing costumes and the flashing of jewels, while the air is filled with the sounds of many languages, amongst which the hoarse, grating, and objectionable American twang is particularly distinguishable. Then the hot fever of reckless life reaches its maximum, and the greed for gain shows itself on every face. From early morn till late at night the maelstrom of excitement whirls and roars, and victim after victim—fascinated by the glitter and glare—is sucked in and ruined or lost. Then it is that the most revolting side of human nature comes prominently uppermost, until an impassioned and cynical onlooker might well excl
