# The Chink in the Armour/Chapter 12
### CHAPTER XII

A couple of hours later Sylvia and Count Paul parted at the door of the Casino. He held her hand longer than was usual with him when bidding her good-night; then, dropping it, he lifted his hat and hurried off towards the station.
Sylvia stood in the dusk and looked after him till a turn in the short road hid his hurrying figure from her sight.
She felt very much moved, touched to the core of her heart. She knew just as well as if he had told her why the Comte de Virieu had given up his evening's play to-night. He had left Lacville, and arranged to meet her in Paris the next day, in order that their names might not be coupled—as would have certainly been the case if they had travelled together into Paris the next morning—by M. Polperro and the good-natured, but rather vulgar Wachners.
As she turned and walked slowly through the Casino, moving as in a dream, Sylvia suddenly felt herself smartly tapped on the shoulder.
She turned round quickly—then she smiled. It was Madame Wachner.
"Why 'ave you not come before?" her friend exclaimed. "Madame Wolsky is making such a sensation! Come quick—quick!" and she hurried the unresisting Sylvia towards the Club rooms. "I come downstairs to see if I could find you," went on Madame Wachner breathlessly.
What could be happening? Sylvia felt the other's ​excitement to be contagious. As she entered the gambling room she saw that a large crowd was gathered round the centre Baccarat table.
"A party of young men out from Paris," explained Madame Wachner in a low tone, "are throwing about their money. It might have been terrible. But no, it is a great piece of good fortune for Madame Wolsky!"
And still Sylvia did not understand.
They walked together up to the table, and then, with amazement and a curious feeling of fear clutching at her heart, Sylvia Bailey saw that Anna Wolsky was holding the Bank.
It was the first time she had ever seen a lady in the Banker's seat.
A thick bundle of notes, on which were arranged symmetrical piles of gold lay in front of Madame Wolsky, and as was always the case when she was really excited, Anna's face had become very pale, and her eyes glistened feverishly.
The play, too, was much higher than usual. This was owing to the fact that at one end of the table there stood a little group of five young men in evening dress. They talked and laughed as they flung their money on the green cloth, and seemed to enjoy the fact that they were the centre of attraction.
"One of them," whispered Madame Wachner eagerly, "had already lost eight thousand francs when I went downstairs to look for you! See, they are still losing. Our friend has the devil's own luck to-night! I have forbidden L'Ami Fritz to play at all. Nothing can stand against her. She sweeps the money up every time. If ​Fritz likes, he can go downstairs to the lower room and play."
But before doing so L'Ami Fritz lingered awhile, watching Madame Wolsky's wonderful run of luck with an expression of painful envy and greed on his wolfish countenance.
Sylvia went round to a point where she could watch Anna's face. To a stranger Madame Wolsky might have appeared almost indifferent; but there had come two spots of red on her cheeks, and the hand with which she raked up the money trembled.
The words rang out, "Faites vos jeux, Messieurs, Mesdames." Then, "Le jeu est fait! Rien ne va plus!"
The luck suddenly turned against Anna. She looked up, and found Sylvia's eyes fixed on her. She made a slight motion, as if she wished her friend to go away.
Sylvia slipped back, and walked quietly round the table. Then she stood behind Anna, and once more the luck came back, and the lady banker's pile of notes and gold grew higher and higher. …
"This is the first time a woman has held the Bank this month," Sylvia heard someone say.
And then there came an answer, "Yes, and it is by far the best Bank we have had this month—in fact, it's the best play we've had this season!"
At last Anna pushed away her chair and got up.
One of the young men who had lost a good deal of money came up to her and said smilingly.
"I hope, Madame, you are not going away. I propose now to take the Bank; surely, you will allow me to have my revenge?
​Anna Wolsky laughed.
"Certainly!" she answered. "I propose to go on playing for some time longer."
He took the Banker's seat, and the crowd dispersed to the other tables. L'Ami Fritz slipped away downstairs, but his wife stayed on in the Club by Sylvia's side.
Soon the table was as much surrounded as before, for Anna was again winning. She had won as banker, now she won as simple player, and all those about her began to "follow her luck" with excellent results to themselves.
The scene reminded Sylvia of that first evening at the Casino. It was only three weeks ago, and yet how full, how crowded the time had been!
Somehow to-night she did not feel inclined to play. To her surprise and amusement she saw Madame Wachner actually risk a twenty-franc piece. A moment later the stake was doubled, and soon the good lady had won nine gold pieces. Her face flushed with joy like a happy child's.
"Oh, why is not Fritz here?" she exclaimed. "How sorry I am I sent him downstairs! But, never mind, his old wife is making some money for once!"
At last the Banker rose from the table. He was pretty well cleared out. Smiling and bowing to Anna, he said, "Well, Madame, I congratulate you! You must have a very powerful mascot."
Anna shook her head gaily.
"It is pleasant to win from a millionaire," she whispered to Sylvia, "for one knows it does not hurt him! That young man has a share in the profit on every piece of sugar sold in France, and you know how fond the French are of sweet things!
​She turned from the table, followed by Sylvia and Madame Wachner.
"What will you do with all your money?" asked Madame Wachner anxiously.
"I told one of the ushers to have it all turned into notes for me," she answered indifferently. "As to what I shall do with it!—well, I suppose I shall have to go into Paris and bank some of it in a day or two. I shan't play to-morrow. I shall take a rest—I deserve a rest!" She looked extraordinarily excited and happy.
"Shall we drop you at the Pension Malfait?" said Madame Wachner amiably. "It is right on our way home, you know. I, too, have made money——" she chuckled joyously.
Madame Wachner left the two friends standing in the hall while she went to look for her husband in the public gambling room, and as they stood there Sylvia became conscious that they were being stared at with a great deal of interest and curiosity. The news of Anna Wolsky's extraordinary good luck had evidently spread.
"I wish I had come in a little earlier," said Sylvia presently. "I've never seen you take the Bank before. Surely this is the first time you have done so?"
"Yes, this is the first time I have ever been tempted to take the Bank at Lacville. But somehow I suddenly felt as if I should be lucky to-night. You see, I've made a good deal of money the last day or two, and Madame Wachner persuaded me to try my luck."
"I wish you had told me you were thinking of taking the Bank."
​"I would have told you," said Anna quietly, "if I had seen you to-day. But I have been seeing very little of you lately, Sylvia. Why, you are more with Madame Wachner than with me!"
She did not speak unkindly, but Sylvia felt a pang of remorse. She had indeed seen very little of Anna Wolsky during the last few days, but that was not because she had been with Madame Wachner.
"I will come and see you for a little while to-night," she said impetuously, "for I am going to spend to-morrow in Paris—with a friend who is there just now——"
She hurried out the half-truth with a curious feeling of guilt.
"Yes, do come!" cried Anna eagerly. "You can stay with me while the carriage takes the Wachners on home, and then it can call for you on the way back. I should not like you to walk to the Villa du Lac alone at this time of night."
"Ah, but I'm not like you; I haven't won piles of money!" said Sylvia, smiling.
"No, but that makes very little difference in a place like this——"
And then Monsieur and Madame Wachner joined them. L'Ami Fritz looked quite moved out of himself. He seized Anna by the hand. "I congratulate you!" he said heartily. "What a splendid thing to go on winning like that. I wish I had been there, for I might have followed your luck!"
They all four walked out of the Casino. It was a very dark night.
"And what will you do with all that money?" ​Monsieur Wachner solicitously inquired. "It is a great sum to carry about, is it not?"
"It is far better to carry about one's money than to trust it to anyone but to a well-managed bank," exclaimed his wife, before Anna could answer the question. "As for the hotel-keepers, I would not trust them with one penny. What happened to a friend of ours, eh, Fritz, tell them that?"
They were now packed into an open carriage, and driving towards the Pension Malfait.
"I don't know what you are talking about," said her husband, crossly.
"Yes, you do! That friend of ours who was boarding in one of those small houses in the Condamine at Monte Carlo, and who one day won a lot of money. He gave his winnings to his hotel-keeper to keep for the night. Next day the man said his safe had been broken open by a foreign waiter who had disappeared. Our friend had no redress—none at all! Malfait may be a very good sort of man, but I would not give him your money——" she turned to Anna.
"No, of course not," said Madame Wolsky. "I should never think of entrusting a really large sum of money to a man of whom I know nothing. It is, as you say, very much better to keep one's money on one's person. It's the plan I've always followed. Then, if it is stolen, or if one loses it, one has only oneself to blame."
"It is very exciting taking the Bank," she added, after a pause. "I think I shall take the Bank again next time I play."
The short drive was soon over, and as Anna and Sylvia ​were going into the Pension Malfait, Madame Wachner called out, "Will you both come to supper to-morrow?"
Sylvia shook her head.
"I am going into Paris for the day," she said, "and I shall feel tired when I get back. But many thanks, all the same."
"Then you must come"—Madame Wachner addressed Anna Wolsky. "We also will have a rest from the Casino."
"Very well! I accept gratefully your kind invitation."
"Come early. Come at six, and we can 'ave a cosy chat first."
"Yes, I will!"
After giving directions that they were to be told when the carriage had come back from the Châlet des Muguets, the two friends went up to Anna Wolsky's bed-room.
Sylvia sat down by the open window.
"You need not light a candle, Anna," she said. "It's so pleasant just now, so quiet and cool, and the light would only attract those horrid midges. They seem to me the only things I have to find fault with in Lacville!"
Anna Wolsky came and sat down in the darkness close to the younger woman.
"Sylvia," she said, "dear little Sylvia! Sometimes I feel uneasy at having brought you to Lacville." She spoke in a thoughtful and very serious tone.
"Indeed, you need feel nothing of the kind."
Sylvia Bailey put out her hand and took the other woman's hand in her own. She knew in her heart what Anna meant, but she wilfully pretended to misunderstand her.
​"You need never think that I run the slightest risk of becoming a gambler," she went on, a little breathlessly. "I was looking at my account-book to-day, and I find that since I have been here I have lost seventy francs. Two days ago I had won a hundred and ten francs. So you see it is not a very serious matter, is it? Just think of all the fun I've had! It's well worth the money I've lost. Besides, I shall probably win it all back——"
"I was not thinking of the money," said Anna Wolsky slowly.
Sylvia made a restless movement, and took her hand out of Anna's affectionate clasp.
"I'm afraid that you are becoming very fond of the Comte de Virieu," went on Anna, in a low voice but very deliberately. "You must forgive me, Sylvia, but I am older than you are. Have you thought of the consequences of this friendship of yours? I confess that at the beginning I credited that man with the worst of motives, but now I feel afraid that he is in love—in fact I feel sure that he is madly in love with you. Do you know that he never takes his eyes off you in the Club? Often he forgets to pick up his winnings. …"
Sylvia's heart began to beat. She wondered if Anna was indeed telling the truth. She almost bent forward and kissed her friend in her gratitude—but all she said was, and that defiantly,
"You can believe me when I say that he has never said a word of love to me. He has never even flirted with me. I give you my word that that is so!"
"Ah, but it is just that fact that makes me believe that he cares. Flirtation is an English art, not a French art, ​my dear Sylvia. A Frenchman either loves—and when he loves he adores on his knees—or else he has no use, no use at all, for what English people mean by flirtation—the make-believe of love! I should feel much more at ease if the Count had insulted you——"
"Anna!"
"Yes, indeed! I am quite serious. I fear he loves you."
And as Sylvia gave a long, involuntary, happy sigh, Anna went on: "Of course, I do not regard him with trust or with liking. How could I? On the other hand, I do not go as far as the Wachners; they, it is quite clear, evidently know something very much to the Count's discredit."
"I don't believe they do!" cried Sylvia, hotly. "It is mere prejudice on their part! He does not like them, and they know it. He thinks them vulgar sort of people, and he suspects that Monsieur Wachner is German—that is quite enough for him."
"But, after all, it does not really matter what the Wachners think of the Comte de Virieu, or what he thinks of them," said Anna. "What matters is what you think of him, and what he thinks of you."
Sylvia was glad that the darkness hid her deep, burning blushes from Anna Wolsky.
"You do not realise," said the Polish lady, gravely, "what your life would be if you were married to a man whose only interest in life is play. Mind you, I do not say that a gambler does not make a kind husband. We have an example"—she smiled a little——"in this Monsieur Wachner. He is certainly very fond of his wife, and ​she is very fond of him. But would you like your husband always to prefer his vice to you?"
Sylvia made no answer.
"But why am I talking like that?" Anna Wolsky started up suddenly. "It is absurd of me to think it possible that you would dream of marrying the Comte de Virieu! No, no, my dear child, this poor Frenchman is one of those men who, even if personally charming, no wise woman would think of marrying. He is absolutely ruined. I do not suppose he has a penny left of his own in the world. He would not have the money to buy you a wedding ring. You would have to provide even that! It would be madness—absolute madness!"
"I do not think," said Sylvia, in a low tone, "that there is the slightest likelihood of my ever marrying the Comte de Virieu. You forget that I have known him only a short time, and that he has never said a word of love to me. As you say, all he cares about is play."
"Surely you must be as well aware as I am that lately he has played a great deal less," said Anna, "and the time that he would have spent at the Club—well, you and I know very well where he has spent the time, Sylvia. He has spent it with you."
"And isn't that a good thing?" asked Sylvia, eagerly. "Isn't it far better that he should spend his time talking to me about ordinary things than in the Casino? Let me assure you again, and most solemnly, Anna, that he never makes love to me——"
"Of course it is a good thing for him that he plays less"—Anna spoke impatiently—"but is it best for you? That is what I ask myself. You have not looked well ​lately, Sylvia. You have looked very sad sometimes. Oh, do not be afraid, you are quite as pretty as ever you were!"
The tears were running down Sylvia's face. She felt that she ought to be very angry with her friend for speaking thus plainly to her, and yet she could not be angry. Anna spoke so tenderly, so kindly, so delicately.
"Shall we go away from Lacville?" asked Madame Wolsky, suddenly. "There are a hundred places where you and I could go together. Let us leave Lacville! I am sure you feel just as I do—I am sure you realise that the Comte de Virieu would never make you happy."
Sylvia shook her head.
"I do not want to go away," she whispered.
And then Madame Wolsky uttered a short exclamation.
"Ah!" she cried, "I understand. He is the friend you are to meet to-morrow—that is why you are going into Paris!"
Sylvia remained silent.
"I understand it all now," went on Anna. "That is the reason why he was not there to-night. He has gone into Paris so as not to compromise you at Lacville. That is the sort of gallantry that means so little! As if Lacville matters—but tell me this, Sylvia? Has he ever spoken to you as if he desired to introduce his family to you? That is the test, remember—that is the test of a Frenchman's regard for a woman."
There came a knock at the door. "The carriage for Madame has arrived."
They went downstairs, Sylvia having left her friend's last question unanswered.
​Madame Wolsky, though generally so undemonstrative, took Sylvia in her arms and kissed her.
"God bless you, my dear little friend!" she whispered, "and forgive all I have said to you to-night! Still, think the matter over. I have lived a great deal of my life in this country. I am almost a Frenchwoman. It is no use marrying a Frenchman unless his family marry you too—and I understand that the Comte de Virieu's family have cast him off."
Sylvia got into the carriage and looked back, her eyes blinded with tears.
Anna Wolsky stood in the doorway of the Pension, her tall, thin figure in sharp silhouette against the lighted hall.
"We will meet the day after to-morrow, is that not so?" she cried out.
And Sylvia nodded. As she drove away, she told herself that whatever happened she would always remain faithful to her affection for Anna Wolsky.