And suiting her action to her words, she put her arm familiarly through Sylvia’s and together they walked out of the Baccarat Room, followed by Chester.

When they were in the vestibule Madame Wachner turned to him with a rueful smile: 

“It is a pity,” she said, “that Fritz did not come away with us!  ’E ’as made a thousand francs.  It is a great deal of money for us to make—­or to lose.  I do not believe ’e will keep it, for, though you bring ’im luck, my dear”—­she turned to Sylvia—­“that Count always brings ’im bad luck.  It ’as been proved to me again and again.  Just before you arrived at Lacville with poor Madame Wolsky, Fritz ’ad a ’eavy loss!—­a very ’eavy loss, and all because the Comte de Virieu ’eld the Bank!”

“Perhaps the Count will not hold the Bank again to-night,” said Sylvia slowly.

“Of course, ’e will do so!” the other spoke quite crossly, “Did I not tell you, Sylvia, that our day servant heard from M. Polperro’s wife, whose sister is cook to the Duchesse d’Eglemont, that the Comte de Virieu ’as been left an immense fortune by ’is godmother?  Well, it is a fortune that will soon melt”—­she chuckled, as if the thought was very pleasant to her.  “But I do not think that any of it is likely to melt into Fritz’s pocket—­though, to be sure, we ’ave been very lucky, all of us, to-night,” she looked affectionately at Sylvia.

“Even you, Sir”—­Madame Wachner turned to Chester with a broad smile—­“even you must be pleased that we came to the Casino to-night.  What a pity it is you did not risk something!  Even one pound!  You might ’ave made quite a nice lot of money to take back to England with you—­”

“—­Or to spend in Switzerland!” said Chester, laughing.  “It is to Switzerland I am going, Madame!  I shall leave here the day after to-morrow.”

“And will you not come back again?” asked Madame Wachner inquisitively.

“I may come back again if Mrs. Bailey is still here; but I do not suppose she will be, for I intend to spend at least a fortnight in Switzerland.”

The three were now approaching the gates of the Villa du Lac.

“Well, Sylvia,” cried Chester.  “I suppose I must now say good-night?  I do not envy you your ill-gotten gains!” He spoke lightly, but there was an undercurrent of reproach in his voice, or so Sylvia fancied.

“Good-night!” she said, and her voice was tremulous.

As she held out her hand the little fancy bag which held all her winnings, the bundle of notes and loose pieces of gold, fell to the ground.

Madame Wachner stooped down and picked it up.  “How ’eavy it is!” she exclaimed, enviously.  “Good gracious, Sylvia!  What a lot you must ’ave made to-night?”

“And the notes don’t weigh much,” said Sylvia.  “It’s only the gold that is heavy!”

But she was not thinking of what she was saying.  Her heart was full of anguish.  How could Paul de Virieu have been so mad as to risk such an immense sum, a tenth part of the fortune—­for fortune it was—­which had just been left to him?