And then, after that, it seemed as if the whole table were following Sylvia's game.
"That pretty Englishwoman is playing for the first time!"—so the word went round. And they all began backing her luck with feverish haste.
The banker, a good-looking young Frenchman, stared at Sylvia ruefully. Thanks to her, he was being badly punished. Fortunately, he could afford it.
At the end of half an hour, feeling tired and bewildered by her good fortune, Mrs. Bailey got up and moved away from the table, the possessor of £92. The Comte Virieu had won exactly the same amount.
Now everybody looked pleased except the banker. For the first time a smile irradiated Monsieur Wachner's long face.
As for Madame Wachner, she was overjoyed. Catching Sylvia by the hand, she exclaimed, in her curious, woolly French, "I would like to embrace you! But I know that English ladies do not like kissing in public. It is splendid—splendid! Look at all the people you have made happy."
"But how about the poor banker?" asked Sylvia, blushing.
"Oh, 'e is all right. 'E is very rich."
Madame Wolsky, like the Count, had exactly followed her friend's play, but not as soon as he had done. Still, she also had made over £80.
"Two thousand francs!" she cried, joyfully. "That is very good for a beginning. And you?" she turned to Monsieur Wachner.
He hesitated, and looked at his wife deprecatingly.
