"I felt, Madame, as if I saw a lily growing in a field of high, rank,
evil-smelling--nay, perhaps I should say, poisonous--weeds."
"But I cannot go away now!" cried Sylvia. She was really impressed--very
uncomfortably impressed--by his earnest words. "It would be most unkind
to my friend, Madame Wolsky. Surely, it is possible to stay at Lacville,
and even to play a little, without anything very terrible happening?" She
looked at him coaxingly, anxiously, as a child might have done.
But Sylvia was not a child; she was a very lovely young woman. Comte Paul
de Virieu's heart began to beat.
But, bah! This was absurd! His day of love and love-making lay far, far
behind him. He rose and walked towards the door.
In speaking to her as he had forced himself to speak, the Frenchman had
done an unselfish and kindly action. Sylvia's gentle and unsophisticated
charm had touched him deeply, and so he had given her what he knew to be
the best possible advice.
"I am not so foolish as to pretend that the people who come and play in
the Casino of Lacville are all confirmed gamblers," he said, slowly.
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