CHAPTER IX

A quarter of an hour’s sharp driving brought Sylvia and Madame Wachner to the door of the Casino.  They found Madame Wolsky in the hall waiting for them.

“I couldn’t think what had happened to you!” she exclaimed in an anxious tone.  “But here is your membership card, Sylvia.  Now you are free of the Baccarat tables!”

Monsieur Wachner met his wife with a frowning face.  He might be pleased to see Madame Wachner, but he showed his pleasure in an odd manner.  Soon, however, the secret of his angry look was revealed, for Madame Wachner opened the leather bag hanging from her wrist and took out of it a hundred francs.

“Here, Fritz,” she cried, gaily.  “You can now begin your play!”

Sylvia Bailey felt very much amused.  So poor “Ami Fritz” was not allowed to gamble unless his wife were there to see that he did not go too far.  No wonder he had looked impatient and eager, as well as cross!  He had been engaged—­that was clear—­in putting down the turns of the game, and in working out what were no doubt abstruse calculations connected with his system.

The Club was very full, and it was a little difficult at that hour of the late afternoon to get near enough to a table to play comfortably; but a stranger had kindly kept Anna Wolsky’s place for her.

“I have been quite lucky,” she whispered to Sylvia.  “I have made three hundred francs, and now I think I will rest a bit!  Slip in here, dear, and I will stand behind you.  I do not advise you to risk more than twenty francs the first time; on the other hand, if you feel en veine, if the luck seems persistent—­it sometimes is when one first plays with gold—­then be bold, and do not hesitate!”

Sylvia, feeling rather bewildered, slipped into her friend’s place, and Anna kept close behind her.

With a hand that trembled a little, she put a twenty-franc piece down on the green table.  After doing so she looked up, and saw that the Comte de Virieu was standing nearly opposite to her, on the other side of the table.

His eyes were fixed on her, and there was a very kind and indulgent, if sad, smile on his face.  As their glances met he leant forward and also put a twenty-franc piece on the green cloth close to where Sylvia’s money lay.

The traditional words rang out:  “Faites vos jeux, Messieurs, Mesdames!  Le jeu est fait!  Rien ne va plus!”

And then Sylvia saw her stake and that of the Count doubled.  There were now four gold pieces where two had been.

“Leave your money on, and see what happens,” whispered Anna.  “After all you are only risking twenty francs!”

And Sylvia obediently followed the advice.

Again there came a little pause; once more the words which she had not yet learnt to understand rang out in the croupier’s monotonous voice.

She looked round her; there was anxiety and watchful suspense on all the eager faces.  The Comte de Virieu alone looked indifferent.