Sylvia hated herself for having contributed to his losses. She knew that
it was absurd that she should feel this, for the same cards would
certainly have been dealt to whoever had happened to take them from the
_croupier_. But still, superstition is part of the virus which fills the
gambler's blood, and she had certainly won a considerable part of the
money Count Paul had lost to-night.

"May I see you back to your house?" asked Chester of Madame Wachner.

"Oh no, Monsieur, I must go hack to the Casino and look after Fritz!
'E is a child--quite a child as regards money." Madame Wachner sighed
heavily. "No, no, you go 'ome to bed in the Pension Malfait."

"I shouldn't think of doing such a thing!" he said kindly. "I will come
back with you to the Casino, and together we will persuade Monsieur
Wachner to go home. He has had time to make or lose a good deal of money
in the last few minutes."

"Yes, indeed he 'as--" again Madame Wachner sighed, and Chester's heart
went out to her. She was a really nice old woman--clever and intelligent,
as well as cheerful and brave. It seemed a great pity that she should be
cursed with a gambler for a husband.

As they went back into the Casino they could hear the people round them
talking of the Comte de Virieu, and of the high play that had gone on at
the club that evening.

"No, he is winning now," they heard someone say. And Madame Wachner
looked anxious. If Count Paul were winning, then her Fritz must be
losing.