Sylvia looked up at him.  She was bewildered, and though not exactly offended, rather hurt.

“But why?” she asked plaintively.  “Why should I not stay at Lacville?”

“Oh, well, there can be no harm in your staying on a few days if you are desirous of doing so.  But Lacville is not a place where I should care for my own sister to come and stay.”  He went on, speaking much quicker—­“Indeed, I will say more!  I will tell you that Lacville may seem a paradise to you, but that it is a paradise full of snakes.”

“Snakes?” repeated Sylvia slowly.  “You mean, of course, human snakes?”

He bowed gravely.

“Every town where reigns the Goddess of play attracts reptiles, Madame, as the sun attracts lizards!  It is not the game that does so, or even the love of play in the Goddess’s victims; no, it is the love of gold!”

Sylvia noticed that he had grown curiously pale.

“Lacville as a gambling centre counts only next to Monte Carlo.  But whereas many people go to Monte Carlo for health, and for various forms of amusement, people only come here in order to play, and to see others play.  The Casino, which doubtless appears to you a bright, pretty place, has been the scene and the cause of many a tragedy.  Do you know how Paris regards Lacville?” he asked searchingly.

“No—­yes,” Sylvia hesitated.  “You see I never heard of Lacville till about a week ago.”  Innate honesty compelled her to add, “But I have heard that the Paris trades-people don’t like Lacville.”

“Let me tell you one thing,” the Count spoke with extraordinary seriousness.  “Every tradesman in Paris, without a single exception, has signed a petition imploring the Government to suspend the Gambling Concession!”

“What an extraordinary thing!” exclaimed Sylvia, and she was surprised indeed.

“Pardon me, it is not at all extraordinary.  A great deal of the money which would otherwise go into the pockets of these tradesmen goes now to enrich the anonymous shareholders of the Casino of Lacville!  Of course, Paris hotel-keepers are not in quite the same position as are the other Parisian trades-people.  Lacville does not do them much harm, for the place is so near Paris that foreigners, if they go there at all, generally go out for the day.  Only the most confirmed gambler cares actually to live at Lacville.”

He looked significantly at Sylvia, and she felt a wave of hot colour break over her face.

“Yes, I know what you must be thinking, and it is, indeed, the shameful truth!  I, Madame, have the misfortune to be that most miserable and most God-forsaken of living beings, a confirmed gambler.”

The Count spoke in a tone of stifled pain, almost anger, and Sylvia gazed up at his stern, sad face with pity and concern filling her kind heart.

“I will tell you my story in a few words,” he went on, and then he sat down by her, and began tracing with his stick imaginary patterns on the stone floor.