David Golder, The Ball, Snow in Autumn & The Courilof Affair (2008) by Irène Némirovsky Page A

…” she said. “You just drive for a while … and then it’s over.”
    “Be quiet!” he shouted, horrified.
    She laughed. “Poor old Dad…” Then added, “Well, out you get, we’re here.”
    Golder looked up. “What? But we’re at the casino! Oh, I see now…”
    “We’ll leave right away if you want,” she said.
    She sat motionless, looking at him and smiling. She knew very well that, once he saw the brightly lit windows of the casino, the silhouettes of the gamblers walking back and forth behind them, and the small, narrow balcony that overlooked the sea, he wouldn’t want to leave.
    “All right then, but just for an hour…”
    Ignoring the valets standing on the steps, Joyce let out a wild cry. “Oh, Dad, I do love you so! I just know you’re going to win, you’ll see!”
    He laughed. “You won’t have a penny of it, no matter what, I’m warning you, my girl.”
    They went into the casino; some of the young women who were wandering from table to table recognised Joyce and gave her a friendly smile.
    “Oh, Dad,” she sighed, “when will
I
be allowed to play? I do so want to …”
    But he had already stopped listening to her, and instead was looking at his cards with trembling hands. She had to call him several times. Finally he turned round sharply and shouted, “What is it? What do you want? Stop bothering me!”
    “I’ll be over there,” she said, pointing to a window seat by the wall, “all right?”
    “Fine, go wherever you want, just leave me be!”
    Joyce laughed, lit a cigarette, and sat down on the hard little velvet bench, tucking her legs under her and toying with her pearls. From where she was, all she could see were the crowds of people surrounding the tables: the men were silent and trembling, the women all eagerly reaching out their necks in the same bizarre way in order to see the cards, the money… Strange menpaced up and down in front of Joyce; now and again, to amuse herself, she would lower her eyes and give one of them a long, mysterious look—feminine, passionate, and seductive—that would make him stop in his tracks, almost without realising it. She would then burst out laughing, look away, and continue waiting.
    Once, when the crowd parted to let in some new players, she had a clear view of Golder. The sudden, strange ageing of his heavy, furrowed face, greenish beneath the harsh light, filled her with vague anxiety.
    “He’s so pale … What’s wrong with him? Is he losing?” she wondered.
    She raised herself up, eagerly straining to see, but the crowd had already closed in around the tables.
    “Damn! Damn!” she said to herself, frowning nervously. “What if I went over to him? No, if you want someone to win, you bring them bad luck.”
    She searched the room until her eyes alighted upon a young man she didn’t know who was walking past her with a beautiful, half-naked young woman. She gestured to them urgently. “Tell me, what’s happening over there? That old man, Golder, is he winning?”
    “No, the other sly old fox is winning, Donovan,” replied the woman, naming a gambler who was famous in casinos all over the world. Joyce threw down her cigarette in rage.
    “He has to win, he has to,” she murmured in despair. “I want my car! I want… I want to go to Spain with Alec! Just the two of us, free … I’ve never spent an entire night with him, sleeping in his arms… My darling Alec … Oh, he has to win! Please, God, let him win!”
    The night passed. In spite of herself, Joyce let her head fall on to her arms. The smoke was burning her eyes.
    She vaguely heard, as if from the depths of a dream, someone laugh as they pointed to her: “Look, there’s little Joyce, sleeping. Look how pretty she is … “
    She smiled, stroked her pearls, then fell into a deep sleep. A little later, she half opened her eyes; the windows of the casino were becoming a paler shade of pink.
    She lifted up her heavy head with difficulty and looked around. There