“And now, I do ’ope, Mr. Chester, that you will come over and spend this evening at the Casino!  I know you do not approve of the play that goes on there, but still, believe me, it is the only thing to do at Lacville.  Lacville would be a very dull place were it not for the Casino!”

Chester smiled.

“You think me far more particular than I am really,” he said, lightly.  “I don’t in the least mind going to the Casino.”  Why should he be a spoil-sport?  “But I confess I cannot understand the kind of attraction play has for some minds.  For instance, I cannot understand the extraordinary fascination 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.