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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.


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