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 companion—­encompassing her on every side.

“Vingt mille francs en Banque!  Une fois, deux fois, messieurs?” A pause—­then the words repeated. “Vingt mille francs en Banque!”

Monsieur Wachner leant his tall, lean form over Sylvia.  She looked up surprised, L’Ami Fritz very seldom spoke to her, or for the matter of that to anyone.

“You must play to-night, Madame!” he said imperiously.  “I have a feeling that to-night you will bring us luck, as you did that first time you played.”

She looked at him hesitatingly.  His words made her remember the friend to whom she so seldom gave a thought nowadays.

“Do you remember how pleased poor Anna was that night?” she whispered.

Monsieur Wachner stared at her, and a look of fear, almost of terror, came over his drawn, hatchet face.

“Do not speak of her,” he exclaimed harshly.  “It might bring us ill-luck!”

And then Chester broke in, “Sylvia, do play if you want to play!” he cried rather impatiently.  It angered him to feel that she would not do in his presence what she would most certainly have done were he not there.

And then Sylvia suddenly made up her mind that she would play.  Count Paul was holding the Bank.  He was risking—­how much was it?—­twenty thousand francs.  Eight hundred pounds of his legacy?  That was madness, absolute madness on his part!  Well, she would gamble too!  There came across her a curious feeling—­one that gave her a certain painful joy—­the feeling that they two were one.  While he was risking his money, she would try to win his money.  Were he in luck to-night, she would be glad to know that it would be her money he would win.

M. Wachner officiously made room for her at the table; and, as she sat down, the Comte de Virieu, looking round, saw who had come there, and he flushed and looked away, straight in front of him.

“A Madame la main,” said Monsieur Wachner eagerly indicating Sylvia.  And the croupier, with a smile, pushed the two fateful cards towards the fair young Englishwoman.

Sylvia took up the two cards.  She glanced down at them.  Yes, L’Ami Fritz had been right.  She was in luck to-night!  In a low voice she uttered the welcome words—­in French, of course—­the words “Nine” and “The King,” as she put the cards, face upwards, on the green cloth.

And then there came for her and for those who backed her, just as there had done on that first fateful evening at the Casino, an extraordinary run of good fortune.

Again and again the cards were dealt to Sylvia, and again and again she turned up a Nine, a Queen, a King, an Eight—.  Once more the crowd excitedly followed her luck, staring at her with grateful pleasure, with fascinated interest, as she brought them temporary wealth.