CHAPTER XXIV


It was nearly nine o'clock, and for the moment the Casino was very empty,
for the afternoon players had left, and the evening _serie_, as M.
Polperro contemptuously called them--the casual crowd of night visitors
to Lacville--had not yet arrived from Paris.

"And now," said Madame Wachner, suddenly, "is it not time for us to go
and 'ave our little supper?"

The "citizeness of the world" had been watching her husband and Sylvia
playing at Baccarat; both of them had won, and Sylvia had welcomed,
eagerly, the excitement of the tables.

Count Paul's muttered farewell echoed in her ears, and the ornately
decorated gambling room seemed full of his presence.

She made a great effort to put any intimate thought of him away. The
next day, so she told herself, she would go back to England, to Market
Dalling. There she must forget that such a place as Lacville existed;
there she must banish Paul de Virieu from her heart and memory. Yes,
there was nothing now to keep her here, in this curious place, where she
had eaten, in more than one sense, of the bitter fruit of the tree of
knowledge.