n it seems to exercise over such an intelligent
man as is that Comte de Virieu."

Madame Wachner looked at the speaker significantly.

"Ah!" she said. "The poor Count! 'E is what you call 'confirmed'--a
confirmed gambler. And 'e will now be able to play more than ever, for
I 'ear a fortune 'as been left to 'im!"

Sylvia was startled. She wondered how the Wachners could have come to
know of the Count's legacy. She got up, with a nervous, impatient
gesture.

How dull, how long, how intolerable had been the last two days spent by
her in the company of Bill Chester, varied by that of talkative Madame
Wachner and the silent, dour Ami Fritz!

Her heart felt very sore. During that last hour she and Count Paul had
spent together in the garden, she had begged him to stay away--to spend
the rest of the summer with his sister. Supposing he took her at her
word--supposing he never came back to Lacville at all? Sylvia tried to
tell herself that in that case she would be glad, and that she only
wanted her friend to do the best, the wisest thing for himself.

Such were her thoughts--her painful thoughts--as she walked across from
the restaurant to the entrance of the Casino. Two whole days had gone by
since she had been there last, and oh! how long each hour of those days
had seemed!

The two oddly-assorted couples passed through into the hall, and so up to
the closely-guarded doors of the Club.

The Baccarat Room was very full, fuller than usual, for several parties
of merry, rather boisterous young men had come out from Paris to spend
the evening.

She heard the words that were now so familiar, solemnly shouted out at
the further table: "_La Banque est aux encheres. Qui prend la Banque?_"

There was a pause, and there fell on Sylvia's ears the murmur of two
voices--the voice of the official who represented the Casino authorities,
and the deep, low voice which had become so dear to her--which thrilled
her heart each time she heard it.

Then Count Paul had come back? He had not followed her advice? And
instead of being sorry, as she ought to have been, she was glad--glad!
Not glad to know that he was here in the Casino--Sylvia was sorry for
that--but glad that he was once more close to her. Till this moment she
had scarcely realised how much his mere presence meant to her.

She could not see Paul de Virieu, for there was a crowd--a noisy,
chattering crowd of over-dressed men, each with a gaudily-dressed
feminine compani