"Are you going to leave the whole of it on this time?" whispered Anna. "Yes, I think I will. It's rather fun. After all, I'm only risking twenty francs!" whispered back Sylvia. And once more she won. "What a pity you didn't start playing with a hundred francs! Think of how rich you would be now," said Anna, with the true gambler's instinct. "But it is clear, child, that you are going to do well this evening, and I shall follow your luck! Take the money off now, however." Sylvia waited to see what the Count would do. Their eyes asked and answered the same question. He gave an imperceptible nod, and she took up her winnings--eight gold pieces! It was well that she had done so, for the next deal of the cards favoured the banker. Then something very surprising happened to Sylvia. Someone--she thought it was Monsieur Wachner--addressed the croupier whose duty it was to deal out the cards, and said imperiously, "_A Madame la main!_" Hardly knowing what she was doing, Sylvia took up the cards which had been pushed towards her. A murmur of satisfaction ran round the table, for there lay what even she had learnt by now was the winning number, a nine of hearts, and the second card was the king of clubs. Again and again, she turned up winning numbers--the eight and the ace, the five and the four, the six and the three--every combination which brought luck to the table and confusion to the banker. Eyes full of adoring admiration, aye and gratitude, were turned on the young Englishwoman. Paul de Virieu alone did not look at her. But he followed her play. "Now put on a hundred francs," said Anna, authoritatively. Sylvia looked at her, rather surprised by the advice, but she obeyed it. And still the Comte de Virieu followed her lead. That made her feel dreadfully nervous and excited--it would be so terrible to make him lose too! Neither of them lost. On the contrary, ten napoleons were added to the double pile of gold. And then, after that, it seemed as if the whole table were following Sylvia's game. "That pretty Englishwoman is playing for the first time!"--so the word went round. And they all began backing her luck with feverish haste. The banker, a good-looking young Frenchman, stared at Sylvia ruefully. Thanks to her, he was being badly punished. Fortunately, he could afford it. At the end of half an hour, feeling tired and bewildered by her good fortune, Mrs. Bailey got up and moved away from the table, the possessor of L92. The Comte Virieu had won exactly the same amount. Now everybody looked pleased except the banker. For the first time a smile irradiated Monsieur Wachner's long face. As for Madame Wachner, she was overjoyed. Catching Sylvia by the hand, she exclaimed, in her curious, woolly French, "I would like to embrace you! But I know that English ladies do not like kissing in public. It is splendid--splendid! Look at all the people you have made happy." "But how about the poor banker?" asked Sylvia, blushing.