"
With fascinated eyes, Sylvia watched Anna put down her gold pieces on the
green cloth. Then she noted the cards as they were dealt out, and
listened, it must be admitted, uncomprehendingly, to the mysterious words
which told how the game was going. Still she sympathised very heartily
with her friend when Anna's gold pieces were swept away, and she rejoiced
as heartily when gold was added to Anna's little pile.
They both stood, refusing the seats which were pressed upon them.
Suddenly Sylvia Bailey, looking up from the green cloth, saw the eyes of
the man who held the Bank fixed full upon her.
The Comte de Virieu did not gaze at the young English woman with the
bold, impersonal stare to which she had become accustomed--his glance was
far more thoughtful, questioning, and in a sense kindly. But his eyes
seemed to pierce her through and through, and suddenly her heart began
to beat very fast. Yet no colour came into her face--indeed, Sylvia grew
pale.
She looked down at the table, but even so she remained conscious of that
piercing gaze turned on her, and with some surprise she found herself
keenly visualising the young man's face.
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