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tables!"

      Monsieur Wachner met his wife with a frowning face. He might be pleased to see Madame Wachner, but he showed his pleasure in an odd manner. Soon, however, the secret of his angry look was revealed, for Madame Wachner opened the leather bag hanging from her wrist and took out of it a hundred francs.

      "Here, Fritz," she cried, gaily. "You can now begin your play!"

      Sylvia Bailey felt very much amused. So poor "Ami Fritz" was not allowed to gamble unless his wife were there to see that he did not go too far. No wonder he had looked impatient and eager, as well as cross! He had been engaged—that was clear—in putting down the turns of the game, and in working out what were no doubt abstruse calculations connected with his system.

      The Club was very full, and it was a little difficult at that hour of the late afternoon to get near enough to a table to play comfortably; but a stranger had kindly kept Anna Wolsky's place for her.

      "I have been quite lucky," she whispered to Sylvia. "I have made three hundred francs, and now I think I will rest a bit! Slip in here, dear, and I will stand behind you. I do not advise you to risk more than twenty francs the first time; on the other hand, if you feel en veine, if the luck seems persistent—it sometimes is when one first plays with gold—then be bold, and do not hesitate!"

      Sylvia, feeling rather bewildered, slipped into her friend's place, and Anna kept close behind her.

      With a hand that trembled a little, she put a twenty-franc piece down on the green table. After doing so she looked up, and saw that the Comte de Virieu was standing nearly opposite to her, on the other side of the table.

      His eyes were fixed on her, and there was a very kind and indulgent, if sad, smile on his face. As their glances met he leant forward and also put a twenty-franc piece on the green cloth close to where Sylvia's money lay.

      The traditional words rang out: "Faites vos jeux, Messieurs, Mesdames! Le jeu est fait! Rien ne va plus!"

      And then Sylvia saw her stake and that of the Count doubled. There were now four gold pieces where two had been.

      "Leave your money on, and see what happens," whispered Anna. "After all you are only risking twenty francs!"

      And Sylvia obediently followed the advice.

      Again there came a little pause; once more the words which she had not yet learnt to understand rang out in the croupier's monotonous voice.

      She looked round her; there was anxiety and watchful suspense on all the eager faces. The Comte de Virieu alone looked indifferent.

      A moment later four gold pieces were added to the four already there.

      "You had better take up your winnings, or someone may claim them," muttered Anna anxiously.

      "Oh, but I don't like to do that," said Sylvia.

      "Of course you must!"

      She put out her hand and took up her four gold pieces, leaving those of the Count on the table. Then suddenly she put back the eighty francs on the cloth, and smiled up at him; it was a gay little shame-faced smile. "Please don't be cross with me, kind friend,"—that is what Sylvia's smile seemed to say to Paul de Virieu—"but this is so very exciting!"

      He felt stirred to the heart. How sweet, how confidingly simple she looked! And—and how very beautiful. He at once loved and hated to see her there, his new little "amie Anglaise!"

      "Are you going to leave the whole of it on this time?" whispered Anna.

      "Yes, I think I will. It's rather fun. After all, I'm only risking twenty francs!" whispered back Sylvia.

      And once more she won.

      "What a pity you didn't start playing with a hundred francs! Think of how rich you would be now," said Anna, with the true gambler's instinct. "But it is clear, child, that you are going to do well this evening, and I shall follow your luck! Take the money off now, however."

      Sylvia waited to see what the Count would do. Their eyes asked and answered the same question. He gave an imperceptible nod, and she took up her winnings—eight gold pieces!

      It was well that she had done so, for the next deal of the cards favoured the banker.

      Then something very surprising happened to Sylvia.

      Someone—she thought it was Monsieur Wachner—addressed the croupier whose duty it was to deal out the cards, and said imperiously, "A Madame la main!"

      Hardly knowing what she was doing, Sylvia took up the cards which had been pushed towards her. A murmur of satisfaction ran round the table, for there lay what even she had learnt by now was the winning number, a nine of hearts, and the second card was the king of clubs.

      Again and again, she turned up winning numbers—the eight and the ace, the five and the four, the six and the three—every combination which brought luck to the table and confusion to the banker.

      Eyes full of adoring admiration, aye and gratitude, were turned on the young Englishwoman. Paul de Virieu alone did not look at her. But he followed her play.

      "Now put on a hundred francs," said Anna, authoritatively.

      Sylvia looked at her, rather surprised by the advice, but she obeyed it. And still the Comte de Virieu followed her lead.

      That made her feel dreadfully nervous and excited—it would be so terrible to make him lose too!

      Neither of them lost. On the contrary, ten napoleons were added to the double pile of gold.

      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.

      "L'Ami Fritz," said Madame Wachner, "will play 'is system, Mesdames. However, I am glad to say that to-day he soon gave it up in honour of our friend here. What 'ave you made?" she asked him.

      "Only eight hundred francs," he said, his face clouding over. "If you had given me more than that hundred francs, Sophie, I might have made five thousand in the time."

      "Bah!" she said. "That does not matter. We must not risk more than a hundred francs a day—you know how often I've told you that, Fritz." She was now speaking in French, very quickly and angrily.

      But Sylvia hardly heard. She could not help wondering why the Count had not come up and congratulated her. The thought that she had brought him luck was very pleasant to her.

      He had left off playing, and was standing back, near one of the windows. He had not even glanced across to the place where she stood. This aloofness gave Sylvia a

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