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!"
And then Chester broke in, "Sylvia, do play if you want to play!" he
cried rather impatiently.
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