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 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,
