The sense of an omnipotent force existing in herself was so strong that when Sylvia saw a golden ten-franc piece lying in the very middle of the fiddle-backed armchair on which Florilor had been sitting, she had for a moment the illusion of having created the coin out of air by the alchemy of her own will.
"Many miracles have deserved the name less than this," she murmured, picking up the piece of gold. For the second time in her life she was able to enjoy the sensation of illimitable wealth; by a curious coincidence the sum had been the same on both occasions. She preened her nail along the figured edge, taking delight in the faint luxurious vibration.
"Misers may get very near to Paradise by fingering their gold," she thought. "But the fingering of gold preparatory to spending it is Paradise indeed."
She went back to Queenie, clasping the coin so tightly that even when she had put it in her purse it still seemed to be resting in her palm.
"Will you be leaving me here?" Queenie exclaimed, in dismay, when she heard of Sylvia's plan for going to Bucharest to-morrow morning and interviewing Philip.
"There's not enough money to take us both there, but I shall come back to-morrow evening; and then we'll flaunt our wealth in the faces of these brutes here."
"But I shall be so hungry to-morrow," Queenie complained.
"Fool that I am," Sylvia cried. "The cakes!"
She rushed away and reached the other room a moment before the waiter arrived with his tray.
"These cakes belong to me," she proclaimed, snatching up the china basket and hugging it to her breast.