She began to understand the at once very simple and, to the uninitiated, intricate game of Baccarat--to long, as Anna Wolsky longed, for the fateful nine, eight, five, and four to be turned up.
She had fifty francs in her purse, and she ached to risk a gold piece.
"Do you think I might put down ten francs ?" she whispered to Anna.
And the other laughed, and exclaimed, "Yes, of course you can!" Sylvia put down a ten-franc piece, and a moment later it had become twenty francs.
"Leave it on," murmured Anna, "and see what happens--" Sylvia followed her friend's advice, and a larger gold piece was added to the two already there.
She took up the forty francs with a curious thrill of joy and fear.
But then an untoward little incident took place.

One of the liveried men-servants stepped forward.

"Has Madame got her card of membership ?" he inquired smoothly.
Sylvia blushed painfully.

No, she had not got a card of membership--and there had been an implied understanding that she was only to look on, not play.
She felt terribly ashamed--a very unusual feeling for Sylvia Bailey--and the gold pieces she held in her hand, for she had not yet put them in her purse, felt as if they burnt her.
But she found a friend, a defender in an unexpected quarter.

The Count rose from the table.