"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. 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