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. 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!"