It angered him to feel that she would not do in
his presence what she would most certainly have done were he not there.
And then Sylvia suddenly made up her mind that she would play. Count Paul
was holding the Bank. He was risking--how much was it?--twenty thousand
francs. Eight hundred pounds of his legacy? That was madness, absolute
madness on his part! Well, she would gamble too! There came across her a
curious feeling--one that gave her a certain painful joy--the feeling
that they two were one. While he was risking his money, she would try to
win his money. Were he in luck to-night, she would be glad to know that
it would be her money he would win.
M. Wachner officiously made room for her at the table; and, as she sat
down, the Comte de Virieu, looking round, saw who had come there, and he
flushed and looked away, straight in front of him.
"_A Madame la main_," said Monsieur Wachner eagerly indicating Sylvia.
And the croupier, with a smile, pushed the two fateful cards towards the
fair young Englishwoman.
Sylvia took up the two cards. She glanced down at them.
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