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. Yes, L'Ami Fritz
had been right. She was in luck to-night! In a low voice she uttered the
welcome words--in French, of course--the words "Nine" and "The King," as
she put the cards, face upwards, on the green cloth.

And then there came for her and for those who backed her, just as there
had done on that first fateful evening at the Casino, an extraordinary
run of good fortune.

Again and again the cards were dealt to Sylvia, and again and again she
turned up a Nine, a Queen, a King, an Eight--. Once more the crowd
excitedly followed her luck, staring at her with grateful pleasure, with
fascinated interest, as she brought them temporary wealth.

The more she won, the more she made other people win, the more miserable
Sylvia felt, and as she saw Count Paul's heap of notes and gold
diminishing, she grew unutterably wretched. Eight hundred pounds? What
an enormous lot of money to risk in an evening!

Then there came a change. For a few turns of the game luck deserted her,
and Sylvia breathed more freely. She glanced up into Count Paul's
impassive face. He looked worn and tired, as well he might be after his
long journey from Brittany.