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Not even after spending a day with his beloved sister could he resist the lure of play! During much of the night that followed Sylvia lay awake, her mind full of the Comte de Virieu, and of the strange friendship which had sprung up between them. Their brief meeting at the door of the Casino had affected her very painfully.
Sylvia summoned up courage to protest. "But, Anna," she exclaimed, "surely the Comte de Virieu is only doing what a great many other people do!" Anna laughed good-humouredly. "I see what you mean," she said. "You think it is a case of 'the pot calling the kettle black. How excellent are your English proverbs, dear Sylvia! But no, it is quite different. Take me.
One or two of the ladies spoke a kindly word to Sylvia as they passed by her, but each had a friend or friends, and she was once more feeling lonely and deserted when suddenly Count Paul de Virieu walked across to where she was sitting by herself. Again he clicked his heels together, and again he bowed low.
We have known him for years, have L'Ami Fritz and I, for we are always running across him at Monte Carlo and other places. But no, each time we meet he looks at us as if he was a fish. He does not even nod!" "When the Comte de Virieu is actually playing, he does not know that other people exist," said Anna Wolsky, slowly.
And then very soon out came the host's pretty little niece with a shawl over her arm. "I have brought Madame a shawl," said the girl, smiling, "for it's getting a little cold," and Sylvia felt touched. How very kind French people were how kind and how thoughtful! It struck half-past eight. Mrs. Bailey and the Comte de Virieu had been talking for quite a long time. Sylvia jumped up.
"Last week I had only M. le Comte Paul de Virieu no doubt Madame has heard of his brother-in-law, the Duc d'Eglemont?" Sylvia smiled. "Yes, he won the Derby, a famous English race," she said; and then, simply because the landlord's love of talking was infectious, "And does the Count own horses, too?" she asked. "Oh, no, Madame.
He did not send the horses away, as Sylvia in her heart had rather hoped he would do, but he said a word to M. Polperro, who ran into the Villa and returned a moment later with something which he handed, with a deferential bow to the Count. It was a cardcase, and Paul de Virieu scribbled something on a card and gave it to M. Polperro. A minute later he had ridden out of the gates.
He put out his left hand, and the long, strong fingers closed, tentacle-wise, on her slender shoulder. His right hand he kept still hidden behind his back The great open-air restaurant in the Champs Élysées was full of foreigners, and Paul de Virieu and Bill Chester were sitting opposite to one another on the broad terrace dotted with little tables embowered in flowering shrubs.
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, pushed the two fateful cards towards the fair young Englishwoman. Sylvia took up the two cards.
Paul de Virieu and M. Polperro were standing side by side; suddenly she saw the hotel-keeper hand the Count, with a gesture of excuse, the note she had written the night before. Count Paul read it through, then he put it back in its envelope, and placed it in the breast pocket of his coat.
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