THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR

 BY MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES

 AUTHOR OF "THE END OF HER HONEYMOON, " "THE LODGER, " Etc. 

 1912

 NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP

 "_But there is one chink in the chain armour of civilized communities. Society is conducted on the assumption that murder will not be committed. _"--

 The Spectator. 

THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR

CHAPTER I

A small, shiny, pink card lay on the round table in Sylvia Bailey'ssitting-room at the Hôtel de l'Horloge in Paris. 

She had become quite accustomed to finding one or more cards--cards fromdressmakers, cards from corset-makers, cards from hairdressers--lying onher sitting-room table, but there had never been a card quite like thiscard. 

Although it was pink, it looked more like a visiting-card than atradesman's advertisement, and she took it up with some curiosity. It wasinscribed "Madame Cagliostra, " and underneath the name were written thewords "_Diseuse de la Bonne Aventure_, " and then, in a corner, in verysmall black letters, the address, "5, Rue Jolie, Montmartre. "

A fortune-teller's card? What an extraordinary thing!

Like many pretty, prosperous, idle women, Sylvia was rathersuperstitious. Not long before this, her first visit to Paris, a Londonacquaintance had taken her to see a noted palmist named "Pharaoh, " inBond Street. She had paid her guinea willingly enough, but the result hadvaguely disappointed her, and she had had the feeling, all the time shewas with him, that the man was not really reading her hand. 

True, "Pharaoh" had told her she was going abroad, and at that time shehad no intention of doing so. The palmist had also told her--and this wasreally rather curious--that she would meet, when abroad, a foreign womanwho would have a considerable influence on her life. Well, in this veryHôtel de l'Horloge Mrs. Bailey had come across a Polish lady, named AnnaWolsky, who was, like Sylvia herself, a young widow, and the two hadtaken a great fancy to one another. 

It was most unlikely that Madame Wolsky would have the slightestinfluence on her, Sylvia Bailey's, life, but at any rate it was verycurious coincidence. "Pharaoh" had proved to be right as to these twothings--she had come abroad, and she had formed a friendship with aforeign woman. 

Mrs. Bailey was still standing by the table, and still holding the pinkcard in her hand, when her new friend came into the room. 

"Well?" said Anna Wolsky, speaking English with a strong foreign accent, but still speaking it remarkably well, "Have you yet decided, my dear, what we shall do this afternoon? There are a dozen things open to us, and I am absolutely at your service to do any one of them!"

Sylvia Bailey laughingly shook her head. 

"I feel lazy, " she said. "I've been at the Bon Marché ever since nineo'clock, and I feel more like having a rest than going out again, thoughit does seem a shame to stay in a day like this!"

The windows were wide open, the June sun was streaming in, and on thelight breeze was borne the murmur of the traffic in the Avenue del'Opéra, within a few yards of the quiet street where the Hôtel del'Horloge is situated. 

The other woman--Anna Wolsky was some years older than SylviaBailey--smiled indulgently. 

"_Tiens!_" she cried suddenly, "what have you got there?" and she tookthe pink card out of Sylvia's hand. 

"Madame Cagliostra?" she repeated, musingly. "Now where did I hear thatname? Yes, of course it was from our chambermaid! Cagliostra is a friendof hers, and, according to her, a marvellous person--one from whom thedevil keeps no secrets! She charges only five francs for a consultation, and it appears that all sorts of well-known people go to her, even thosewhom the Parisians call the _Gratin_, that is, the Upper Crust, from theChamps Elysées and the Faubourg St. Germain!"

"I don't think much of fortune-tellers, " said Sylvia, thoughtfully. "I went to one last time I was in London and he really didn't tell meanything of the slightest interest. "

Her conscience pricked her a little as she said this, for "Pharaoh" hadcertainly predicted a journey which she had then no intention of taking, and a meeting with a foreign woman. Yet here she was in Paris, and herewas the foreign woman standing close to her!

Nay more, Anna Wolsky had become--it was really rather odd that it shouldbe so--the first intimate friend of her own sex Sylvia had made since shewas a grown-up woman. 

"I do believe in fortune-tellers, " said Madame Wolsky deliberately, "andthat being so I shall spend my afternoon in going up to Montmartre, tothe Rue Jolie, to hear what this Cagliostra has to say. It will be whatyou in England call 'a lark'! And I do not see why I should not givemyself so cheap a lark as a five-franc lark!"

"Oh, if you really mean to go, I think I will go too!" cried Sylvia, gaily. 

She was beginning to feel less tired, and the thought of a long lonelyafternoon spent indoors and by herself lacked attraction. 

Linking her arm through her friend's, she went downstairs and into thebarely furnished dining-room, which was so very unlike an English hoteldining-room. In this dining-room the wallpaper simulated a vine-coveredtrellis, from out of which peeped blue-plumaged birds, and on each littletable, covered by an unbleached table-cloth, stood an oil and vinegarcruet and a half-bottle of wine. 

The Hôtel de l'Horloge was a typical French hotel, and foreigners veryseldom stayed there. Sylvia had been told of the place by the old Frenchlady who had been her governess, and who had taught her to speak Frenchexceptionally well. 

Several quiet Frenchmen, who had offices in the neighbourhood, were "_enpension_" at the Hôtel de l'Horloge, and as the two friends came in manywere the steady, speculative glances cast in their direction. 

To the average Frenchman every woman is interesting; for every Frenchmanis in love with love, and in each fair stranger he sees the possibleheroine of a romance in which he may play the agreeable part of hero. So it was that Sylvia Bailey and Anna Wolsky both had their silentadmirers among those who lunched and dined in the narrow green andwhite dining-room of the Hôtel de l'Horloge. 

Only a Frenchman would have given a second look at the Polish lady whileSylvia was by, but a Frenchman, being both a philosopher and a logicianby nature, is very apt to content himself with the second-best when heknows the best is not for him. 

The two friends were in entire contrast to one another. Madame Wolsky wastall, dark, almost swarthy; there was a look of rather haughty pride andreserve on her strong-featured face. She dressed extremely plainly, theonly ornament ever worn by her being a small gold horseshoe, in thecentre of which was treasured--so, not long ago, she had confided toSylvia, who had been at once horrified and thrilled--a piece of the ropewith which a man had hanged himself at Monte Carlo two years before! ForMadame Wolsky--and she made no secret of the fact to her new friend--wasa gambler. 

Anna Wolsky was never really happy, she did not feel more than halfalive, when away from the green cloth. She had only left Monte Carlowhen the heat began to make the place unbearable to one of her northerntemperament, and she was soon moving on to one of the Frenchwatering-places, where gambling of sorts can be indulged in allthe summer through. 

Different in looks, in temperament, and in tastes were the two youngwidows, and this, perhaps, was why they got on so excellently welltogether. 

Sylvia Bailey was the foreign ideal of a beautiful Englishwoman. Her hairwas fair, and curled naturally. Her eyes were of that blue which looksviolet in the sunlight; and she had a delicate, rose leaf complexion. 

Married when only nineteen to a man much older than herself, she was nowat twenty-five a widow, and one without any intimate duties or close tiesto fill her existence. Though she had mourned George Bailey sincerely, she had soon recovered all her normal interest and pleasure in life. 

Mrs. Bailey was fond of dress and able to indulge her taste; but, evenso, good feeling and the standard of propriety of the English countrytown of Market Dalling where she had spent most of her life, perhapsalso a subtle instinct that nothing else would ever suit her so well, made her remain rigidly faithful to white and black, pale grey, andlavender. She also wore only one ornament, but it was a very becomingand an exceedingly costly ornament, for it consisted of a string of largeand finely-matched pearls. 

As the two friends went upstairs after luncheon Madame Wolsky saidearnestly, "If I were you, Sylvia, I would certainly leave your pearls inthe office this afternoon. Where is the use of wearing them on such anexpedition as that to a fortune-teller?"

"But why shouldn't I wear them?" asked Sylvia, rather surprised. 

"Well, in your place I should certainly leave anything as valuable asyour pearls in safe keeping. After all, we know nothing of this MadameCagliostra, and Montmartre is what Parisians call an eccentric quarter. "

Sylvia Bailey disliked very much taking off her pearls. Though she couldnot have put the fact into words, this string of pearls was to her asymbol of her freedom, almost of her womanhood. 

As a child and young girl she had been under the close guardianshipof a stern father, and it was to please him that she had married therich, middle-aged man at Market Dalling whose adoration she had enduredrather than reciprocated. George Bailey also had been a determinedman--determined that his young wife should live his way, not hers. During their brief married life he had heaped on her showy, rather thanbeautiful, jewels; nothing of great value, nothing she could wear when inmourning. 

And then, four months after her husband's death, Sylvia's own aunt haddied and left her a thousand pounds. It was this legacy--which hertrustee, a young solicitor named William Chester, who was also a friendand an admirer of hers, as well as her trustee, had been proposing toinvest in what he called "a remarkably good thing"--Mrs. Bailey hadinsisted on squandering on a string of pearls!

Sylvia had become aware, in the subtle way in which Women become awareof such things, that pearls were the fashion--in fact, in one sense, "the only wear. " She had noticed that most of the great ladies of theneighbourhood of Market Dalling, those whom she saw on those occasionswhen town and county meet, each wore a string of pearls. She had alsocome to know that pearls seem to be the only gems which can be worn withabsolute propriety by a widow, and so, suddenly, she had made up her mindto invest--she called it an "investment, " while Chester called it an"absurd extravagance"--in a string of pearls. 

Bill Chester had done his very best to persuade her to give up her sillynotion, but she had held good; she had shown herself, at any rate on thisone occasion, and in spite of her kindly, yielding nature, obstinate. 

This was why her beautiful pearls had become to Sylvia Bailey a symbol ofher freedom. The thousand pounds, invested as Bill Chester had meant toinvest it, would have brought her in £55 a year, so he had told her in agrave, disapproving tone. 

In return she had told him, the colour rushing into her pretty face, thatafter all she had the right to do what she chose with her legacy, themore so that this thousand pounds was in a peculiar sense her own money, as the woman who had left it her was her mother's sister, having nothingto do either with her father or with the late George Bailey!

And so she had had her way--nay, more; Chester, at the very last, hadgone to great trouble in order that she might not be cheated over herpurchase. Best of all, Bill--Sylvia always called the serious-mindedyoung lawyer "Bill"--had lived to admit that Mrs. Bailey had made a goodinvestment after all, for her pearls had increased in value in the twoyears she had had them. 

Be that as it may, the young widow often reminded herself that nothingshe had ever bought, and nothing that had ever been given her, had causedher such lasting pleasure as her beloved string of pearls!

But on this pleasant June afternoon, in deference to her determinedfriend's advice, she took off her pearls before starting out forMontmartre, leaving the case in the charge of M. Girard, the genialproprietor of the Hôtel de l'Horloge. 

CHAPTER II

With easy, leisurely steps, constantly stopping to look into the windowsof the quaint shops they passed on the way, Sylvia Bailey and Anna Wolskywalked up the steep, the almost mountainous byways and narrow streetswhich lead to the top of Montmartre. 

The whole population seemed to have poured itself out in the open air onthis sunny day; even the shopkeepers had brought chairs out of theirshops and sat on the pavement, gaily laughing and gossiping together inthe eager way Parisians have. As the two foreign ladies, both young, bothin their very different fashion good-looking, walked past the sittinggroups of neighbours--men, women, and children would stop talking andstare intently at them, as is also a Parisian way. 

At first Sylvia had disliked the manner in which she was stared at inParis, and she had been much embarrassed as well as a little amused bythe very frank remarks called forth in omnibuses as well as in the streetby the brilliancy of her complexion and the bright beauty of her fairhair. But now she was almost used to this odd form of homage, which camequite as often from women as from men. 

"The Rue Jolie?" answered a cheerful-looking man in answer to a question. "Why, it's ever so much further up!" and he vaguely pointed skywards. 

And it was much further up, close to the very top of the great hill! Infact, it took the two ladies a long time to find it, for the Rue Joliewas the funniest, tiniest little street, perched high up on what mightalmost have been a mountain side. 

As for No. 5, Rue Jolie, it was a queer miniature house more like a Swisschâlet than anything else, and surrounded by a gay, untidy little gardenfull of flowers, the kind of half-wild, shy, and yet hardy flowers thatcome up, year after year, without being tended or watered. 

"Surely a fortune-teller can't live here?" exclaimed Sylvia Bailey, remembering the stately, awe-inspiring rooms in which "Pharaoh" receivedhis clients in Bond Street. 

"Oh, yes, this is evidently the place!"

Anna Wolsky smiled good-humouredly; she had become extremely fond of theyoung Englishwoman; she delighted in Sylvia's radiant prettiness, herkindly good-temper, and her eager pleasure in everything. 

A large iron gate gave access to the courtyard which was so much largerthan the house built round it. But the gate was locked, and a pull at therusty bell-wire produced no result. 

They waited a while. "She must have gone out, " said Sylvia, ratherdisappointed. 

But Madame Wolsky, without speaking, again pulled at the rusty wire, andthen one of the châlet windows was suddenly flung open from above, and awoman--a dark, middle-aged Frenchwoman--leant out. 

"_Qui est là?_" and then before either of them could answer, the womanhad drawn back: a moment later they heard her heavy progress down thecreaky stairs of her dwelling. 

At last she came out into the courtyard, unlocked the iron gate, andcurtly motioned to the two ladies to follow her. 

"We have come to see Madame Cagliostra, " said Sylvia timidly. She tookthis stout, untidily-dressed woman for the fortune-teller's servant. 

"Madame Cagliostra, at your service!" The woman turned round, her facebreaking into a broad smile. She evidently liked the sound of herpeculiar name. 

They followed her up a dark staircase into a curious little sitting-room. It was scrupulously clean, but about it hung the faint odour which theFrench eloquently describe as "shut in, " and even on this beautiful hotday the windows were tightly closed. 

On the red walls hung various drawings of hands, of hearts, and of heads, and over the plain mantelpiece was a really fine pastel portrait of aman, in eighteenth century dress and powdered hair. 

"My ancestor, Count Cagliostro, ladies!" exclaimed the fat little womanproudly. "As you will soon see, if you have, as I venture to suppose, come to consult me, I have inherited the great gifts which made CountCagliostro famous. " She waited a moment. "What is it you desire of me?Do you wish for the Grand Jeu? Or do you prefer the Crystal?"

Madame Cagliostra gave a shrewd, measuring glance at the two young womenstanding before her. She was wondering how much they were good for. 

"No doubt you have been told, " she said suddenly, "that my fee is fivefrancs. But if you require the Grand Jeu it will be ten francs. Come, ladies, make up your minds; I will give you both the Grand Jeu forfifteen francs!"

Sylvia Bailey's lip quivered; she felt a wild wish to burst outlaughing. It was all so absurd; this funny queer house; this odd, stuffy, empty-looking room; and this vulgar, common-looking woman asserting thatshe was descended from the famous Count Cagliostro! And then, to crowneverything, the naïve, rather pathetic, attempt to get an extra fivefrancs out of them. 

But Sylvia was a very kindly, happy-natured creature, and she would nothave hurt the feelings of even a Madame Cagliostra for the world. 

She looked at her friend questioningly. Would it not be better just togive the woman five francs and go away? They surely could not expect tohear anything of any value from such a person. She was evidently a fraud!

But Anna Wolsky was staring at Madame Cagliostra with a serious look. 

"Very well, " she exclaimed, in her rather indifferent French. "Very well!We will both take the Grand Jeu at fifteen francs the two. "

She turned and smiled at Sylvia. "It will be, " she said, quaintly, and inEnglish, "my 'treat, ' dear friend. " And then, as Sylvia shook her headdecidedly--there were often these little contests of generosity betweenthe two women--she added rather sharply, "Yes, yes! It shall be so. I insist! I see you do not believe in ourhostess's gift. There are, however, one or two questions I must ask, andto which I fancy she can give me an answer. I am anxious, too, to hearwhat she will say about _you_. "

Sylvia smiled, and gave way. 

Like most prosperous people who have not made the money they are able tospend, Mrs. Bailey did not attach any undue importance to wealth. But sheknew that her friend was not as well off as herself, and therefore shewas always trying to pay a little more of her share than was fair. Thanksto Madame Wolsky's stronger will, she very seldom succeeded in doing so. 

"We might at least ask her to open the window, " she said ratherplaintively. It really was dreadfully stuffy!

Madame Cagliostra had gone to a sideboard from which she was taking twopacks of exceedingly dirty, queer-looking cards. They were the famousTaro cards, but Sylvia did not know that. 

When the fortune-teller was asked to open the window, she shook her headdecidedly. 

"No, no!" she said. "It would dissipate the influences. I cannot do that!On the contrary, the curtains should be drawn close, and if the ladieswill permit of it I will light my lamp. "

Even as she spoke she was jerking the thick curtains closely together;she even pinned them across so that no ray of the bright sunlight outsidecould penetrate into the room. 

For a few moments they were in complete darkness, and Sylvia felt aqueer, eerie sensation of fear, but this soon passed away as thelamp--the "_Suspension_, " as Madame Cagliostra proudly called it--waslit. 

When her lamp was well alight, the soothsayer drew three chairs up to theround table, and motioned the two strangers to sit down. 

"You will take my friend first, " said Anna Wolsky, imperiously; and then, to Sylvia, she said, in English, "Would you rather I went away, dear? Icould wait on the staircase till you were ready for me to come back. Itis not very pleasant to have one's fortune told when one is as young andas pretty as you are, before other people. "

"Of course I don't mind your being here!" cried Sylvia Bailey, laughing--then, looking doubtfully at Madame Cagliostra, though it wasobvious the Frenchwoman did not understand English, "The truth is that Ishould feel rather frightened if you were to leave me here all by myself. So please stay. "

Madame Cagliostra began dealing out the cards on the table. First slowly, then quickly, she laid them out in a queer pattern; and as she did so shemuttered and murmured to herself. Then a frown came over her face; shebegan to look disturbed, anxious, almost angry. 

Sylvia, in spite of herself, grew interested and excited. She was sorryshe had not taken off her wedding-ring. In England the wise woman alwaystakes off her wedding-ring on going to see a fortune-teller. She wasalso rather glad that she had left her pearls in the safe custody ofM. Girard. This little house in the Rue Jolie was a strange, lonelyplace. 

Suddenly Madame Cagliostra began to speak in a quick, clear, monotonousvoice. 

Keeping her eyes fixed on the cards, which now and again she touched witha fat finger, and without looking at Sylvia, she said:

"Madame has led a very placid, quiet life. Her existence has been a boatthat has always lain in harbour--" She suddenly looked up: "I spent mychildhood at Dieppe, and that often suggests images to me, " she observedcomplacently, and then she went on in quite another tone of voice:--

"To return to Madame and her fate! The boat has always been in harbour, but now it is about to put out to sea. It will meet there another craft. This other craft is, to Madame, a foreign craft, and I grieve to say it, rather battered. But its timbers are sound, and that is well, for itlooks to me as if the sails of Madame's boat would mingle, at any ratefor a time with this battered craft. "

"I don't understand what she means, " said Sylvia, in a whisper. "Do askher to explain, Anna!"

"My friend asks you to drop metaphor, " said the older woman, drily. 

The soothsayer fixed her bright, beady little eyes on Sylvia's flushedface. 

"Well, " she said deliberately, "I see you falling in love, and I also seethat falling in love is quite a new experience. It burns, it scorchesyou, does love, Madame. And for awhile you do not know what it means, forlove has never yet touched you with his red-hot finger. "

"How absurd!" thought Sylvia to herself. "She actually takes me for ayoung girl! What ridiculous mistakes fortune-tellers do make, to besure!"

"--But you cannot escape love, " went on Madame Cagliostra, eagerly. "Yourfate is a fair man, which is strange considering that you also are a fairwoman; and I see that there is already a dark man in your life. "

Sylvia blushed. Bill Chester, just now the only man in her life, was avery dark man. 

"But this fair man knows all the arts of love. " Madame Cagliostra sighed, her voice softened, it became strangely low and sweet. "He will love youtenderly as well as passionately. And as for you, Madame--but no, for meto tell you what you will feel _and what you will do_ would not bedelicate on my part!"

Sylvia grew redder and redder. She tried to laugh, but failed. She feltangry, and not a little disgusted. 

"You are a foreigner, " went on Madame Cagliostra. Her voice had grownhard and expressionless again. 

Sylvia smiled a little satiric smile. 

"But though you are a foreigner, " cried the fortune-teller with suddenenergy, "it is quite possible that you will never go back to your owncountry! Stop--or, perhaps, I shall say too much! Still if you ever do goback, it will be as a stranger. That I say with certainty. And I add thatI hope with all my heart that you will live to go back to your owncountry, Madame!"

Sylvia felt a vague, uneasy feeling of oppression, almost of fear, stealover her. It seemed to her that Madame Cagliostra was looking at her withpuzzled, pitying eyes. 

The soothsayer again put a fat and not too clean finger down on theupturned face of a card. 

"There is something here I do not understand; something which I miss whenI look at you as I am now looking at you. It is something you alwayswear--"

She gazed searchingly at Sylvia, and her eyes travelled over Mrs. Bailey's neck and bosom. 

"I see them and yet they are not there! They appear like little balls oflight. Surely it is a necklace?"

Sylvia looked extremely surprised. Now, at last, Madame Cagliostra wasjustifying her claim to a supernatural gift!

"These balls of light are also your Fate!" exclaimed the womanimpetuously. "If you had them here--I care not what they be--I shouldentreat you to give them to me to throw away. "

Madame Wolsky began to laugh. "I don't think you would do that, " sheobserved drily. 

But Madame Cagliostra did not seem to hear the interruption. 

"Have you heard of a mascot?" she said abruptly. "Of a mascot whichbrings good fortune to its wearer?"

Sylvia bent her head. Of course she had heard of mascots. 

"Well, if so, you have, of course, heard of objects which bringmisfortune to their wearers--which are, so to speak, unlucky mascots?"

And this time it was Anna Wolsky who, leaning forward, nodded gravely. She attributed a run of bad luck she had had the year before to atrifling gift, twin cherries made of enamel, which a friend had givenher, in her old home, on her birthday. Till she had thrown that littlebrooch into the sea, she had been persistently unlucky at play. 

"Your friend, " murmured Madame Cagliostra, now addressing herself toAnna and not to Sylvia, "should dispossess herself as quickly as possibleof her necklace, of these round balls. They have already brought herill-fortune in the past, they have lowered her in the estimation of anestimable person--in fact, if she is not very careful, indeed, even ifshe be very careful--it looks to me, Madame, as if they would end bystrangling her!"

Sylvia became very uncomfortable. "Of course she means my pearls, " shewhispered. "But how absurd to say they could ever do me harm. "

"Look here, " said Anna Wolsky earnestly, "you are quite right, Madame;my friend has a necklace which has already played a certain part in herlife. But is it not just because of this fact that you feel the influenceof this necklace so strongly? I entreat you to speak frankly. You arereally distressing me very much!"

Madame Cagliostra looked very seriously at the speaker. 

"Well, perhaps it is so, " she said at last. "Of course, we are sometimeswrong in our premonitions. And I confess that I feel puzzled--exceedinglypuzzled--to-day. I do not know that I have ever had so strange a caseas that of this English lady before me! I see so many roads stretchingbefore her--I also see her going along more than one road. As a rule, onedoes not see this in the cards. "

She looked really harassed, really distressed, and was still conning hercards anxiously. 

"And yet after all, " she cried suddenly, "I may be wrong! Perhaps thenecklace has less to do with it than I thought! I do not know whether thenecklace would make any real difference! If she takes one of the roadsopen to her, then I see no danger at all attaching to the preservation ofthis necklace. But the other road leads straight to the House of Peril. "

"The House of Peril?" echoed Sylvia Bailey. 

"Yes, Madame. Do you not know that all men and women have their House ofPeril--the house whose threshold they should never cross--behind whosedoor lies misery, sometimes dishonour?"

"Yes, " said Anna Wolsky, "that is true, quite true! There has been, alas!more than one House of Peril in my life. " She added, "But what kind ofplace is my friend's House of Peril?"

"It is not a large house, " said the fortune-teller, staring down atthe shining surface of her table. "It is a gay, delightful littleplace, ladies--quite my idea of a pretty dwelling. But it is filled withhorror unutterable to Madame. Ah! I entreat you"--she stared sadly atSylvia--"to beware of unknown buildings, especially if you persistin keeping and in wearing your necklace. "

"Do tell us, Madame, something more about my friend's necklace. Is it, for instance, of great value, and is it its value that makes it a sourceof danger?"

Anna Wolsky wondered very much what would be the answer to this question. She had had her doubts as to the genuineness of the pearls her friendwore. Pearls are so exquisitely imitated nowadays, and these pearls, ifgenuine, were of such great value!

At first she had not believed them to be real, then gradually she hadbecome convinced of Sylvia's good faith. If the pearls were false, Sylviadid not know it. 

But Madame Cagliostra's answer was disappointing--or prudent. 

"I cannot tell you that, " she said. "I cannot even tell you of what thenecklace is composed. It may be of gold, of silver, of diamonds, ofpearls--it may be, I'm inclined to think it is, composed of Egyptianscarabei. They, as you know, often bring terrible ill-fortune in theirtrain, especially when they have been taken from the bodies of mummies. But the necklace has already caused this lady to quarrel with a very goodand sure friend of hers--of that I am sure. And, as I tell you, I see inthe future that this necklace may cause her very serious trouble--indeed, I see it wound like a serpent round her neck, pressing ever tighter andtighter--"

She suddenly began shuffling the cards. "And now, " she said in a tone ofrelief, "I will deal with you, Madame, " and she turned to Anna with asmile. 

Sylvia drew her chair a little away from the table. 

She felt depressed and uncomfortable. What an odd queer kind of fortunehad been told her! And then it had all been so muddled. She couldscarcely remember what it was that _had_ been told her. 

Two things, however, remained very clear in her mind: The one was theabsurd prediction that she might never go back to her own country; thesecond was all that extraordinary talk about her pearls. As to thepromised lover, the memory of the soothsayer's words made her feel veryangry. No doubt Frenchwomen liked that sort of innuendo, but it onlydisgusted her. 

Yet it was really very strange that Madame Cagliostra had known, orrather had divined, that she possessed a necklace by which she laid greatstore. But wasn't there such a thing as telepathy? Isn't it supposed bysome people that fortune-tellers simply see into the minds of those whocome to them, and then arrange what they see there according to theirfancy?

That, of course, would entirely account for all that the fortune-tellerhad said about her pearls. 

Sylvia always felt a little uncomfortable when her pearls were not lyinground her pretty neck. The first time she had left them in the hotelbureau, at her new friend's request, was when they had been together tosome place of amusement at night, and she had felt quite miserable, quitelost without them. She had even caught herself wondering whether M. Girard was perfectly honest, whether she could trust him not to have herdear pearls changed by some clever jeweller, though, to be sure, she feltshe would have known her string of pearls anywhere!

 * * * * *

But what was this that was going on between the other two?

Madame Cagliostra dealt out the pack of cards in a slow, deliberatefashion--and then she uttered a kind of low hoarse cry, and mixed thecards all together, hurriedly. 

Getting up from the table, she exclaimed, "I regret, Madame, that I cantell you nothing--nothing at all! I feel ill--very ill!" and, indeed, shehad turned, even to Sylvia's young and unobservant eyes, terribly pale. 

For some moments the soothsayer stood staring into Anna Wolsky'sastonished face. 

"I know I've disappointed you, Mesdames, but I hope this will not preventyour telling your friends of my powers. Allow me to assure you that it isnot often that I am taken in this way!"

Her voice had dropped to a whisper. She was now gazing down at the packof cards which lay on the table with a look of horror and oppression onher face. 

"I will only charge five francs, " she muttered at last, "for I know thatI have not satisfied you. "

Sylvia sprang to the window. She tore apart the curtains and pulled upthe sash. 

"No wonder the poor woman feels faint, " she said quickly. "It's absurd tosit with a window tight shut in this kind of room, which is little morethan a box with three people in it!"

Madame Cagliostra had sunk down into her chair again. 

"I must beg you to go away, Mesdames, " she muttered, faintly. "Fivefrancs is all I ask of you. "

But Anna Wolsky was behaving in what appeared to Sylvia a very strangemanner. She walked round to where the fortune-teller was sitting. 

"You saw something in the cards which you do not wish to tell me?" shesaid imperiously. "I do not mind being told the truth. I am not a child. "

"I swear I saw nothing!" cried the Frenchwoman angrily. "I am too ill tosee anything. The cards were to me perfectly blank!"

In the bright sunlight now pouring into the little room the soothsayerlooked ghastly, her skin had turned a greenish white. 

"Mesdames, I beg you to excuse me, " she said again. "If you do not wishto give me the five francs, I will not exact any fee. "

She pointed with a shaking finger to the door, and Sylvia put afive-franc piece down on the table. 

But before her visitors had quite groped their way to the end of theshort, steep staircase, they heard a cry. 

"Mesdames!" then after a moment's pause, "Mesdames, I implore you to comeback!"

They looked at one another, and then Anna, putting her finger to herlips, went back up the stairs, alone. 

"Well, " she said, briefly, "I knew you had something to tell me. What isit?"

"No, " said Madame Cagliostra dully. "I must have the other lady here, too. You must both be present to hear what I have to say. "

Anna went to the door and called out, "Come up Sylvia! She wants to seeus both together. "

There was a thrill of excitement, of eager expectancy in Madame Wolsky'svoice; and Sylvia, surprised, ran up again into the little room, now fullof light, sun, and air. 

"Stand side by side, " ordered the soothsayer shortly. She stared at themfor a moment, and then she said with extreme earnestness:--

"I dare not let you go away without giving you a warning. Your two fatesare closely intertwined. Do not leave Paris for awhile, especially do notleave Paris together. I see you both running into terrible danger! If youdo go away--and I greatly fear that you will do so--then I advise you, together and separately, to return to Paris as soon as possible. "

"One question I must ask of you, " said Anna Wolsky urgently. "How goes myluck? You know what I mean? I play!"

"It is not your luck that is threatened, " replied the fortune-teller, solemnly; "on the contrary, I see wonderful luck; packets of bank-notesand rouleaux of gold! It is not your luck--it is something far, far moreimportant that is in peril. Something which means far more to you eventhan your luck!"

The Polish woman smiled rather sadly. 

"I wonder what that can be?" she exclaimed. 

"It is your life!"

"My life?" echoed Anna. "I do not know that I value my life as much asyou think I do. "

"The English have a proverb, Madame, which says: 'A short life and amerry one. '"

"Can you predict that I shall have, if a short life, then a merry one?"

"Yes, " said Madame Cagliostra, "that I can promise you. " But there was nosmile on her pale face. "And more, I can predict--if you will only followmy advice, if you do not leave Paris for, say"--she hesitated a moment, as if making a silent calculation--"twelve weeks, I can predict you, ifnot so happy a life, then a long life and a fairly merry one. Will youtake my advice, Madame?" she went on, almost threateningly. "Believe me, I do not often offer advice to my clients. It is not my business to doso. But I should have been a wicked woman had I not done so this time. That is why I called you back. "

"Is it because of something you have seen in the cards that you tender usthis advice?" asked Anna curiously. 

But Madame Cagliostra again looked strangely frightened. 

"No, no!" she said hastily. "I repeat that the cards told me nothing. The cards were a blank. I could see nothing in them. But, of course, wedo not only tell fortunes by cards"--she spoke very quickly and ratherconfusedly. "There is such a thing as a premonition. "

She waited a moment, and then, in a business-like tone, added, "And nowI leave the question of the fee to the generosity of these ladies!"

Madame Wolsky smiled a little grimly, and pulled out a twenty-francpiece. 

The woman bowed, and murmured her thanks. 

When they were out again into the roughly paved little street, Annasuddenly began to laugh. 

"Now, isn't that a typical Frenchwoman? She really did feel ill, shereally saw nothing in my cards, and, being an honest woman, she did notfeel that she could ask us to pay! Then, when we had gone away, leavingonly five francs, her thrift got the better of her honesty; she felt shehad thrown away ten good francs! She therefore called us back, and gaveus what she took to be very excellent advice. You see, I had told herthat I am a gambler. She knows, as we all know, that to play for moneyis a foolish thing to do. She is aware that in Paris it is not very easyfor a stranger to obtain admittance--especially if that stranger be arespectable woman--to a gambling club. She therefore said to herself, 'I will give this lady far more than ten francs' worth of advice. I willtell her not to go away! As long as she remains in Paris she cannot loseher money. If she goes to Dieppe, Trouville, any place where there is aCasino, she will lose her money. Therefore I am giving her invaluableadvice--worth far more than the ten francs which she ought to be madeto give me, and which she shall be made to give me!'"

"I suppose you are right, " said Sylvia thoughtfully. "And yet--andyet--she certainly spoke very seriously, did she not, Anna? She seemedquite honestly--in fact, terribly afraid that we should go awaytogether. "

"But there is no idea of our going away together, " said Madame Wolsky, rather crossly. "I only wish there were! You are going on to Switzerlandto join your friends, and as for me, in spite of Madame Cagliostra'smysterious predictions, I shall, of course, go to some place--I think itwill be Dieppe (I like the Dieppe Casino the best)--where I can play. Andthe memory of you, my dear little English friend, will be my mascot. Youheard her say that I should be fortunate--that I should have anextraordinary run of good fortune?"

"Yes, " said Sylvia, "but do not forget"--she spoke with a certaingravity; death was a very real thing to her, for she had seen in the lasttwo years two deathbeds, that of her father, that of her husband--"do notforget, Anna, that she told you you would not live long if you wentaway. "

"She was quite safe in saying that to me, " replied the other hastily. "People who play--those who get the gambling fever into their system whenthey are still young--do not, as a rule, live very long. Their emotionsare too strong, too often excited! Play should be reserved for theold--the old get so quickly deadened, they do not go through the terriblemoments younger people do!"

CHAPTER III

On the morning after her visit to Madame Cagliostra, Sylvia Bailey wokelater than usual. She had had a disturbed night, and it was pleasant tofeel that she could spend a long restful day doing nothing, or onlytaking part in one of the gay little expeditions which make Paris toa stranger the most delightful of European capitals. 

She opened wide both the windows of her room, and from outside therefloated in a busy, happy murmur, for Paris is an early city, and nineo'clock there is equivalent to eleven o'clock in London. 

She heard the picturesque street cries of the flower-sellers in theAvenue de l'Opéra--"Beflower yourselves, gentlemen and ladies, befloweryourselves!"

The gay, shrill sounds floated in to her, and, in spite of her bad nightand ugly dreams, she felt extraordinarily well and happy. 

Cities are like people. In some cities one feels at home at once; othersremain, however well acquainted we become with them, always strangers. 

Sylvia Bailey, born, bred, married, widowed in an English provincialtown, had always felt strange in London. But with Paris, --dear, delightful, sunny Paris, --she had become on the closest, the mostaffectionately intimate terms from the first day. She had only beenhere a month, and yet she already knew with familiar knowledge thequarter in which was situated her quiet little hotel, that wonderfulsquare mile--it is not more--which has as its centre the Paris OperaHouse, and which includes the Rue de la Paix and the beginning ofeach of the great arteries of modern Paris. 

And that was not all. Sylvia Bailey knew something of the France of thepast. The quiet, clever, old-fashioned Frenchwoman by whom she had beeneducated had seen to that. She could wander through the narrow streetson the other side of the Seine, and reconstitute the amazing, moving, tragic things which happened there during the great Revolution. 

She was now half sorry to think that in ten days or so she had promisedto join some acquaintances in Switzerland. Luckily her trustee andwould-be lover, Bill Chester, proposed to come out and join the partythere. That was something to look forward to, for Sylvia was very fondof him, though he sometimes made her angry by his fussy ways. Chester hadnot approved of her going to Paris by herself, and he would certainlyhave shaken his head had he known of yesterday's visit to MadameCagliostra. 

And then Sylvia Bailey began to think of her new friend: of Anna Wolsky. She was sorry, very sorry, that they were going to part so soon. If onlyAnna would consent to come on with her to Switzerland! But alas! therewas no chance of that, for there are no Casinos, no gambling, in the landof William Tell. 

There came a knock at the door, and Madame Wolsky walked in. She wasdressed for a journey. 

"I have to go out of town this morning, " she said, "but the place I amgoing to is quite near, and I shall be back this afternoon. "

"Where are you going?" asked Sylvia, naïvely. "Or is it a secret?"

"No, it is not a secret. " Anna smiled provokingly. "I am going to go to aplace called Lacville. I do not suppose you have ever heard of Lacville, Sylvia?"

The other shook her head. 

"I thought not, " cried Anna, suddenly bursting out laughing. Then, "Good-bye!" she exclaimed, and she was gone before Sylvia could sayanything else. 

Lacville? There had been a sparkle, a look of life, of energy in Anna'sface. Why was Anna Wolsky going to Lacville? There was something aboutthe place concerning which she had chosen to be mysterious, and yet shehad made no secret of going there. 

Mrs. Bailey jumped out of bed, and dressed rather more quickly thanusual. 

It was a very hot day. In fact, it was unpleasantly hot. How delightfulit would be to get into the country even for an hour. Why should she notalso make her way to Lacville?

She opened the "Guide-Book to Paris and its Environs, " of which she hadmade such good use in the last month, and looked up "Lacville" in theindex. 

 Situated within a drive of the beautiful Forest of Montmorency, the pretty little town of Lacville is still famed for its healing springs and during the summer months of the year is much frequented by Parisians. There are frequent trains from the Gare du Nord. 

No kind fairy whispered the truth to Sylvia--namely that this account isonly half, nay, a quarter, or an eighth, of the truth. 

Lacville is the spendthrift, the gambler--the austere would call herthe chartered libertine--of the group of pretty country towns whichencircle Paris; for Lacville is in the proud possession of a GamblingConcession which has gradually turned what was once the quietest ofinland watering-places into a miniature Monte Carlo. 

The vast majority of intelligent, cultivated English and Americanvisitors to Paris remain quite unaware that there is, within half an hourof the French capital, such a spot; the minority, those tourists who domake their way to the alluring little place, generally live to regret it. 

But Sylvia knew nothing, nay, less than nothing, of all this, and even ifshe had known, it would not have stayed her steps to-day. 

She put on her hat and hurried down to the office. There M. Girard woulddoubtless tell her of a good train to Lacville, and if it were a smallplace she might easily run across Anna Wolsky. 

M. Girard was a very busy man, yet he always found time for a talk withany foreign client of his hotel. 

"I want to know, " said Sylvia, smiling in spite of herself, for thehotel-keeper was such a merry-looking little man, and so utterlydifferent from any English hotel-keeper she had ever seen!--"I want toknow, M. Girard, which is the best way to a place called Lacville? Haveyou ever been there?"

"Lacville?" echoed M. Girard delightedly; but there came a rather funnylook over his shrewd, round face. "Yes, indeed, I have been there, Madame! Not this season yet, but often last summer, and I shall be goingthere shortly again. I have a friend there--indeed, he is more than afriend, he is a relation of mine, who keeps the most select hotel atLacville. It is called the Villa du Lac. Is Madame thinking of going toLacville instead of to Switzerland?"

Sylvia shook her head. "Oh, no! But Madame Wolsky is there to-day, and Ishould have gone with her if I had been ready when she came down. It hasturned so hot that I feel a few hours in the country would be pleasant, and I am quite likely to meet her, for I suppose Lacville is not a verylarge place, M. Girard?"

The hotel-keeper hesitated; he found it really difficult to give a trueanswer to this simple question. 

"Lacville?" he repeated; "well--Dame! Lacville is Lacville! It is notlike anything Madame has ever seen. On that I would lay my life. First, there is a most beautiful lake--that is, perhaps, the principalattraction;--then the villas of Lacville--ah! they are ravishinglylovely, and then there is also"--he fixed his black eyes on her--"aCasino. "

"A Casino?" echoed Sylvia. She scarcely knew what a Casino was. 

"But to see the Casino properly Madame must go at night, and it would bewell if Madame were accompanied by a gentleman. I do not think Madameshould go by herself, but if Madame really desires to see Lacvilleproperly my wife and I will make a great pleasure to ourselves toaccompany her there one Sunday night. It is very gay, is Lacville onSunday night--or, perhaps, " added M. Girard quickly, "Madame, beingEnglish, would prefer a Saturday night? Lacville is also very gay onSaturday nights. "

"But is there anything going on there at night?" asked Sylvia, astonished. "I thought Lacville was a country place. "

"There are a hundred and twenty trains daily from the Gare du Nord toLacville, " said the hotel-keeper drily. "A great many Parisians spend theevening there each day. They do not start till nine o'clock in theevening, and they are back, having spent a very pleasant, or sometimesan unpleasant, soirée, before midnight. "

"A hundred and twenty trains!" repeated Sylvia, amazed. "But why do somany people want to go to Lacville?"

Again the hotel-keeper stared at her with a questioning look. Was itpossible that pretty Madame Bailey did not know what was the realattraction of Lacville? Yet it was not his business to run the placedown--as a matter of fact, he and his wife had invested nearly a thousandpounds of their hard-earned savings in their relation's hotel, the Villadu Lac. If Madame Bailey really wanted to leave salubrious, beautifulParis for the summer, why should she not go to Lacville instead of todull, puritanical, stupid Switzerland?

These thoughts rushed through the active brain of M. Girard with amazingquickness. 

"Many people go to Lacville in order to play baccarat, " he said lightly. 

And then Sylvia knew why Anna Wolsky had gone to Lacville. 

"But apart from the play, Lacville is a little paradise, Madame, " he wenton enthusiastically. "It is a beauteous spot, just like a scene in anopera. There is the romantic lake, edged with high, shady trees andprincely villas--and then the gay, the delightful Casino!"

"And is there a train soon?"

"I will look Madame out a train this moment, and I will also give herone of my cousin Polperro's cards. Madame has, of course, heard of theEmpress Eugénie? Well, the Villa du Lac once belonged to one of theEmpress's gentlemen-in-waiting. The very highest nobility stay at theVilla du Lac with my cousin. At this very moment he has Count Paul deVirieu, the brother-in-law of a duke, among his clients--"

M. Girard had noticed the British fondness for titles. 

"You see, Madame, my cousin was chef to the Emperor of Brazil'ssister--this has given him a connection among the nobility. In the winterhe has an hotel at Mentone, " he was looking up the train while he chattedhappily. 

"There is a train every ten minutes, " he said at last, "from the Gare duNord. Or, if Madame prefers it, she could walk up from here to the Squareof the Trinité and take the tramway; but it is quicker and pleasanter togo by train--unless, indeed, Madame wishes to offer herself the luxury ofan automobile. That, alas! I fear would cost Madame twenty to thirtyfrancs. "

"Of course I will go by train, " said Sylvia, smiling, "and I will lunchat your cousin's hotel, M. Girard. "

It would be quite easy to find Anna, or so she thought, for Anna would beat the Casino. Sylvia felt painfully interested in her friend's love ofgambling. It was so strange that Anna was not ashamed of it. 

And then as she drove to the great railway terminus, from which a hundredand twenty trains start daily for Lacville, it seemed to Sylvia that thewhole of Paris was placarded with the name of the place she was now aboutto visit for the first time!

On every hoarding, on every bare piece of wall, were spread large, flamboyant posters showing a garish but not unattractive landscape. Therewas the sun sparkling on a wide stretch of water edged with high trees, and gay with little sailing boats, each boat with its human freight oftwo lovers. Jutting out into the blue lake was a great white building, which Sylvia realised must be the Casino. And under each picture ran thewords "Lacville-les-Bains" printed in very black letters. 

When she got to the Gare du Nord the same advertisement stared down ather from the walls of the station and of the waiting-rooms. 

It was certainly odd that she had never heard of Lacville, and that theplace had never been mentioned to her by any of those of her Englishacquaintances who thought they knew Paris so well. 

The Lacville train was full of happy, chattering people. In herfirst-class carriage she had five fellow-travellers--a man and womanand three children. They looked cheerful, prosperous people, and soonthe husband and wife began talking eagerly together. 

"I really think, " said the lady suddenly, "that we might have chosen someother place than Lacville in which to spend to-day! There are many placesthe children would have enjoyed more. "

"But there is no place, " said her husband in a jovial tone, "where I canspend an amusing hour in the afternoon. "

"Ah, my friend, I feared that was coming!" exclaimed his wife, shaking her head. "But remember what happened the last time we wereat Lacville--I mean the afternoon when you lost seventy francs!"

"But you forget that other afternoon!" answered the man eagerly. "Imean the afternoon when I made a hundred francs, and bought you andthe children a number of delightful little gifts with the money!"

Sylvia was amused. How quaint and odd French people were! She couldnot imagine such an interchange of words between an English husband andwife, especially before a stranger. And then her amusement was furtherincreased, for the youngest child, a boy of about six, cried out that healso wished to go to the Casino with his dear papa. 

"No, no, my sweet cabbage, that will happen quite soon enough, when thouart older! If thou art in the least like thy father, there will certainlycome a time when thou also wilt go and lose well-earned money at theTables, " said his mother tenderly. 

"But if I win, then I shall buy thee a present, " said the sweet cabbagecoaxingly. 

Sylvia looked out of the window. These happy, chattering people made herfeel lonely, and even a little depressed. 

The country through which the train was passing was very flat andugly--in fact, it could scarcely be called country at all. And when atlast they drew up into the large station of what was once a quiet, remotevillage where Parisian invalids, too poor to go elsewhere, came to takemedicinal waters, she felt a pang of disappointment. Lacville, as seenfrom the railway, is an unattractive place. 

"Is this Madame's first visit to Lacville?" asked her fellow-traveller, helping her out of the railway carriage. "If so, Madame would doubtlesslike to make her way to the lake. Would she care to accompany usthither?"

Sylvia hesitated. She almost felt inclined to go back to Paris by thenext train. She told herself that there was no hope of finding Anna insuch a large place, and that it was unlikely that this dreary-lookingtown would offer anything in the least pleasant or amusing on a veryhot day. 

But "It will be enchanting by the lake!" she heard some one say eagerly. And this chance remark made up her mind for her. After all, she might aswell go and see the lake, of which everyone who mentioned Lacville spokeso enthusiastically. 

Down the whole party swept along a narrow street, bordered by high whitehouses, shabby cafés, and little shops. Quite a crowd had left thestation, and they were all now going the same way. 

A turn in the narrow street, and Sylvia uttered a low cry of pleasure andastonishment!

Before her, like a scene in a play when the curtain is rung up, theresuddenly appeared an immense sunlit expanse of water, fringed by hightrees, and bordered by quaint, pretty châlets and villas, fantastic inshape, and each surrounded by a garden, which in many cases ran down tothe edge of the lake. 

To the right, stretching out over the water, its pinnacles and minaretsreflected in blue translucent depths, rose what looked like a great whitemarble palace. 

"Is it not lovely?" said the Frenchman eagerly. "And the water of thelake is so shallow, Madame, there is no fear of anyone being drowned init! That is such an advantage when one has children. "

"And it is a hundred times more charming in the afternoon, " his wifechimed in, happily, "for then the lake is so full of little sailing-boatsthat you can hardly see the water. Oh, it is gay then, very gay!"

She glanced at Mrs. Bailey's pretty grey muslin dress and elegantparasol. 

"I suppose Madame is going to one of the great restaurants? As for us, we shall make our way into a wood and have our luncheon there. It isexpensive going to a restaurant with children. "

She nodded pleasantly, with the easy, graceful familiarity whichforeigners show in their dealings with strangers; and, shepherding theirlittle party along, the worthy pair went briskly off by the broad avenuewhich girdles the lake. 

Again Sylvia felt curiously alone. She was surrounded on every side bygroups of merry-looking people, and already out on the lake there floatedtiny white-sailed boats, each containing a man and a girl. 

Everyone seemed to have a companion or companions; she alone wassolitary. She even found herself wondering what she was doing there in aforeign country, by herself, when she might have been in England, in herown pleasant house at Market Dalling!

She took out of her bag the card which the landlord of the Hôtel del'Horloge had pressed upon her. "Hôtel Pension, Villa du Lac, Lacville. "

She went up rather timidly to a respectable-looking old bourgeois and hiswife. "Do you know, " she asked, "where is the Villa du Lac?"

"Certainly, Madame, " answered the old man amiably. "It is there, close toyou, not a hundred yards away. That big white house to our left. " Andthen, with that love of giving information which possesses so manyFrenchman, he added:

"The Villa du Lac once belonged to the Marquis de Para, who wasgentleman-in-waiting to the Empress Eugénie. He and his family lived onhere long after the war, in fact"--he lowered his voice--"till theConcession was granted to the Casino. You know what I mean? The GamblingConcession. Since then the world of Lacville has become rather mixed, asI have reason to know, for my wife and I have lived here fifteen years. The Marquis de Para sold his charming villa. He was driven away, like somany other excellent people. So the Villa du Lac is now an hotel, wheredoubtless Madame has friends?"

Sylvia bowed and thanked him. Yes, the Villa du Lac even now looked likea delightful and well-kept private house, rather than like an hotel. Itstood some way back--behind high wrought-steel and gilt gates--from thesandy road which lay between it and the lake, and the stone-pavedcourtyard was edged with a line of green tubs, containing orange trees. 

Sylvia walked through the gates, which stood hospitably open, and whenshe was half-way up the horseshoe stone-staircase which led to the frontdoor, a man, dressed in the white dress of a French chef, and bearing analmost ludicrous resemblance to M. Girard, came hurrying out. 

"Madame Bailey?" he exclaimed joyously, and bowing very low. "Have I thehonour of greeting Madame Bailey? My cousin telephoned to me that youmight be coming, Madame, to déjeuner!" And as Sylvia smiled in assent:"I am delighted, I am honoured, by the visit of Madame Bailey!"

Sylvia laughed outright. She really could not help it! It was very niceand thoughtful of M. Girard to have telephoned to his cousin. But howdreadful it would have been if she had gone straight back to Paris fromthe station. All these kind people would have had their trouble fornothing. 

M. Polperro was a shrewd Southerner, and he had had the sense to makebut few alterations to the Villa du Lac. It therefore retained somethingof the grand air it had worn in the days when it had been the propertyof a Court official. The large, cool, circular hall into which thehotel-keeper ushered Sylvia was charming, as were the long, finelydecorated reception-rooms on either side. 

The dining-room, filled with small oval tables, to which M. Polperro nextled his honoured guest, had been built out since the house had become anhotel. It commanded a view of the lake on the one side, and of the large, shady garden of the villa on the other. 

"I have arranged for Madame a little table in what we call the lakewindow, " observed M. Polperro. "As yet Lacville is very empty. Paris isso delightful, " he sighed, "but very soon, when the heat comes, Lacvillewill be quite full, " he smiled joyously. "I myself have a very choiceclientèle--I do not deal with rubbish. " He drew himself up proudly. "Myclients come back to me year after year. Already I have six visitors, andin ten days my pension will be _au grand complet_. It is quality, notquantity, that I desire, Madame. If ever you know anyone who wishes tocome to Lacville you may safely recommend them--I say it with my handson my heart, " and he suited his action to his words--"to the Villa duLac. "

How delightful it all was to Sylvia Bailey! No wonder her feeling ofdepression and loneliness vanished. 

As she sat down, and looked out of the bay window which commanded thewhole length of the gleaming, sun-flecked lake, she told herself that, pleasant as was Paris, Lacville on a hot day was certainly a hundredtimes pleasanter than Paris. 

And the Casino? Sylvia fixed her blue eyes on the white, fairy-likegroup of buildings, which were so attractive an addition to the prettylandscape. 

Surely one might spend a pleasant time at Lacville and never play formoney? Though she was inclined to feel that in this matter of gamblingEnglish people are curiously narrow. It was better to be philosophicalabout it, like that excellent Frenchwoman in the train, who had notgrudged her husband a little amusement, even if it entailed his losingwhat she had described as "hard-earned money. "

Though she had to wait nearly half an hour for her meal, the time passedquickly; and when at last déjeuner was served to her well and deftly by apleasant-faced young waitress dressed in Breton costume, each item of thecarefully-prepared meal was delicious. M. Polperro had not been chef to aPrincess for nothing. 

Sylvia Bailey was not greedy, but like most healthy people she enjoyedgood food, and she had very seldom tasted quite such good food as thatwhich was served to her at the Hôtel du Lac on this memorable June day. 

She had almost finished her luncheon when a fair young man came in andsat down at a small table situated at the other end of the dining-room, close to the window overlooking the garden of the Villa du Lac. 

CHAPTER IV

As the young man came into the dining-room he glanced over to where Mrs. Bailey was sitting and then he looked away, and, unfolding his tablenapkin, paid no more attention to the only other occupant of the room. 

Now this was a very trifling fact, and yet it surprised our youngEnglishwoman; she had become accustomed to the way in which Frenchmen, orperhaps it would be more true to say Parisians, stare at a pretty womanin the streets, in omnibuses, and in shops. As for the dining-room of theHôtel de l'Horloge, it always seemed full of eyes when she and AnnaWolsky were having lunch or dinner there. 

Now, for the first time, she found herself close to a Frenchman withoutfeeling either uncomfortably or amusingly aware of a steady, unwinkingstare. It was quite an odd sensation to find herself thus neglected!

Without actually looking round, Sylvia, out of the corner of her blueeye, could see this exceptional Frenchman. He was dressed in whiteflannels, and he wore rather bright pink socks and a pink tie to match. He must be, she decided, something of a dandy. Though still a young man, he was rather bald, and he had a thick fair moustache. He looked boredand very grave; she could not help wondering why he was staying atLacville. 

M. Polperro suddenly appeared at the door. "Would M. Le Comte preferscrambled eggs or an omelette?" he asked obsequiously, and "M. Le Comte"lifted his head and answered shortly, but with a smile, "Scrambled eggs, my good Polperro. "

Doubtless this was the gentleman who was brother-in-law of the FrenchDuke mentioned by M. Girard. He spoke to the chef with the kindlyfamiliarity born of long knowledge. 

After having given the Count his scrambled eggs, the young waitress cameover to where Sylvia was sitting. "Would Madame like to have her coffeein the garden?" she asked; and Sylvia said that she would. 

How enchanting was the garden of the Villa du Lac, and how unlike anyhotel garden she had ever seen! The smooth, wide lawn was shaded withnoble cedars and bright green chestnut trees; it was paradise comparedwith the rather stuffy little Hôtel de l'Horloge and the dusty Parisstreets. 

M. Polperro himself brought Sylvia's coffee. Then he stayed on talking toher, for like all clever hotel-keepers the Southerner had the gift ofmaking those who were staying in his house feel as if they were indeedhis guests rather than his clients. 

"If Madame should ever care to make a little stay at Lacville, how happyMadame Polperro and I would be!" he exclaimed. "I have a beautiful roomoverlooking the lake which I could give Madame. It was reserved for aRussian Princess, but now she is not coming--"

"Perhaps I will come and stay here some day, " said Sylvia, and she reallyfelt as if she would like to come and stay in the Villa du Lac. "But I amgoing to Switzerland next week, so it will have to be the next time Icome to France in the summer. "

"Does Madame play?" asked M. Polperro, insinuatingly. 

"I?" said Sylvia, laughing. "No, indeed! Of course, I play bridge--allEnglish people play bridge--but I have never gambled, if you mean that, monsieur, in my life. "

"I am delighted to hear Madame say so, " said M. Polperro, heartily. "People now talk of Lacville as if there was only the Casino and theplay. They forget the beautiful walks, the lovely lake, and the manyother attractions we have to offer! Why, Madame, think of the Forest ofMontmorency? In old days it was quite a drive from Lacville, but now ataxi or an automobile will get you there in a few minutes! Still theCasino is very attractive too; and all _my_ clients belong to the Club!"

Sylvia stayed on for nearly an hour in the delightful, peaceful garden, and then, rather regretfully, she went up the lichen-covered steps whichled into the hall. How deliciously cool and quiet it was there. 

She paid her bill; it seemed very moderate considering how good her lunchhad been, and then slowly made her way out of the Villa du Lac, downacross the stone-flagged courtyard to the gate, and so into the sandedroad. 

Crossing over, she began walking by the edge of the lake; and once moreloneliness fell upon her. The happy-looking people who passed herlaughing and talking together, and the more silent couples who floated byon the water in the quaint miniature sailing boats with which the surfaceof the lake was now dotted, were none of them alone. 

Suddenly the old parish church of Lacville chimed out the hour--it wasonly one o'clock--amazingly early still!

Someone coming across the road lifted his hat. Could it be to her? Yes, for it was the young man who had shared with her, for a time, the largedining-room of the Villa du Lac. 

Again Sylvia was struck by what she could only suppose were thestranger's good manners, for instead of staring at her, as even thegood-humoured bourgeois with whom she had travelled from Paris thatmorning had done, the Count--she remembered he was a Count--turnedsharply to the right and walked briskly along to the turning whichled to the Casino. 

The Casino? Why, of course, it was there that she must look for AnnaWolsky. How stupid of her not to have thought of it! And so, afterwaiting a moment, she also joined the little string of people who werewending their way towards the great white building. 

After having paid a franc for admission, Sylvia found herself in the hallof the Casino of Lacville. An eager attendant rushed forward to relieveher of the dust-cloak and parasol which she was carrying. 

"Does Madame wish to go straight to the Room of the Games?" he inquiredeagerly. 

Sylvia bent her head. It was there, or so she supposed, that Anna wouldbe. 

Feeling a thrill of keen curiosity, she followed the man through aprettily-decorated vestibule, and so into a large room, overlooking thelake, where already a crowd of people were gathered round the green baizetables. 

The Salle des Jeux at Lacville is a charming, conservatory-likeapartment, looking, indeed, as if it were actually built out on thewater. 

But none of the people were looking at the beautiful scene outside. Instead, each group was intent on the table, and on the game being playedthereon--a game, it may be mentioned, which has a certain affinity withRoulette and Petits Chevaux, though it is neither the one nor the other. 

Sylvia looked about her timidly; but no one took the slightest notice ofher, and this in itself was rather strange. She was used to exciting agood deal of attention wherever she went in France, but here, atLacville, everyone seemed blind to her presence. It was almost as if shewere invisible! In a way this was a relief to her; but at the same time, she found it curiously disconcerting. 

She walked slowly round each gambling table, keeping well outside thevarious circles of people sitting and standing there. 

Strange to say Anna Wolsky was not among them. Of that fact Sylvia soonbecame quite sure. 

At last a servant in livery came up to her. "Does Madame want a seat?" heasked officiously. "If so, I can procure Madame a seat in a very fewmoments. "

But Sylvia, blushing, shook her head. She certainly had no wish to sitdown. 

"I only came in to look for a friend, " she said, hesitatingly; "but myfriend is not here. "

And she was making her way out of the Salle des Jeux, feeling ratherdisconsolate and disappointed, when suddenly, in the vestibule, she sawMadame Wolsky walking towards her in the company of a middle-aged man. 

"Then that is settled?" Sylvia heard Anna say in her indifferent French. "You will fill up all the formalities, and by the time I arrive the cardof membership will be ready for me? This kind of thing"--she waved herhand towards the large room Sylvia had just left--"is no use to me atall! I only like _le Grand Jeu_"; and a slight smile came over her darkface. 

The man who was with her laughed as if she had made a good joke; thenbowing, he left her. 

"Sylvia!"

"Anna!"

Mrs. Bailey fancied that the other was not particularly sorry to havebeen followed. 

"So you came after me? Well! Well! I never should have thought to haveseen my dear Puritan, Sylvia Bailey, in such a place as the Casino ofLacville?" said the Polish lady laughing. "However, as you are here, let us enjoy ourselves. Would you like to risk a few francs?"

Together they had gone back into the Salle des Jeux, and Anna drew Sylviatowards the nearest table. 

"This is a child's game!" she exclaimed, contemptuously. "I cannotunderstand how all these clever Parisians can care to come out here andlose their money every Saturday and Sunday, to say nothing of otherdays!"

"But I suppose some of these people make money?" questioned Sylvia. Shethought she saw a great deal of money being won, as well as lost, on thegreen cloth of the table before her. 

"Oh yes, no doubt a few may make money at this game! But I have just beenarranging, with the aid of the owner of the Pension where I am going tostay when I come here, to join the Club. "

And then, realising that Sylvia did not understand, she went on. 

"You see, my dear child, there are two kinds of play here--as there are, indeed, at almost every Casino in France. There is _this_ game, which is, as I say, a child's game--a game at which you can make or lose a fewfrancs; and then there is Baccarat!"

She waited a moment. 

"Yes?" said Sylvia questioningly. 

"Baccarat is played here in what they call the Club, in another part ofthe building. As there is an entrance fee to the Club, there is neversuch a crowd in the Baccarat Room as there is here. And those who belongto the Club 'mean business, ' as they say in your dear country. They come, that is, to play in the way that I understand and that I enjoy play!"

A little colour rose to Anna Wolsky's sallow cheeks; she lookedexhilarated, excited at the thoughts and memories her words conjured up. 

Sylvia also felt curiously excited. She found the scene strangelyfascinating--the scene presented by this crowd of eager men and women, each and all absorbed in this mysterious game which looked anythingbut a child's game, though Anna had called it so. 

But as they were trying to make their way through the now dense crowd ofpeople, the middle-aged man who had been with Anna when Sylvia had firstseen her just now hurried up to them. 

"Everything is arranged, Madame!" he exclaimed. "Here is your membershipcard. May I have the pleasure of taking you myself to the Club? Yourfriend can come too. She does not want to play, does she?"

He looked inquisitively at Sylvia, and his hard face softened. He hadyour true Frenchman's pleasure in charm and beauty. "Madame, or is itMademoiselle?--"

"Madame!" answered Anna, smiling. 

"--Madame can certainly come in and look on for a few moments, eventhough she be not a member of the Club. "

They turned and followed him up a broad, shallow staircase, into a partof the Casino where the very atmosphere seemed different from thatsurrounding the public gaming tables. 

Here, in the Club, all was hushed and quiet, and underfoot was a thickcarpet. 

There were very few people in the Baccarat Room, some twelve men, andfour or five ladies who were broken up into groups, and talking with oneanother in the intimate, desultory fashion in which people talk who meetdaily in pursuit of some common interest or hobby. 

And then, all at once, Sylvia Bailey saw that among them, but standing alittle apart, was the Count--was not his name de Virieu?

He turned round, and as he saw her she thought that a look of surprise, almost of annoyance, flitted over his impassive face. Then he moved awayfrom where he could see her. 

A peculiar-looking old gentleman, who seemed on kindly terms witheveryone in the room, pulled a large turnip watch out of his pocket. "Itis nearly half-past one!" he exclaimed fussily. "Surely, it is time thatwe began! Who takes the Bank to-day?"

"I will, " said the Comte de Virieu, coming forward. 

Five minutes later play was in full swing. Sylvia did not in the leastunderstand the game of Baccarat, and she would have been surprised indeedhad she been told that the best account of it ever written is that whichdescribes it as "neither a recreation nor an intellectual exercise, butsimply a means for the rapid exchange of money well suited to persons ofimpatient temperament. "

With fascinated eyes, Sylvia watched Anna put down her gold pieces on thegreen cloth. Then she noted the cards as they were dealt out, andlistened, it must be admitted, uncomprehendingly, to the mysterious wordswhich told how the game was going. Still she sympathised very heartilywith her friend when Anna's gold pieces were swept away, and she rejoicedas heartily when gold was added to Anna's little pile. 

They both stood, refusing the seats which were pressed upon them. 

Suddenly Sylvia Bailey, looking up from the green cloth, saw the eyes ofthe man who held the Bank fixed full upon her. 

The Comte de Virieu did not gaze at the young English woman with thebold, impersonal stare to which she had become accustomed--his glance wasfar more thoughtful, questioning, and in a sense kindly. But his eyesseemed to pierce her through and through, and suddenly her heart beganto beat very fast. Yet no colour came into her face--indeed, Sylvia grewpale. 

She looked down at the table, but even so she remained conscious of thatpiercing gaze turned on her, and with some surprise she found herselfkeenly visualising the young man's face. 

Alone among all the people in the room, the Comte de Virieu looked as ifhe lived a more or less outdoor life; his face was tanned, his blue eyeswere very bright, and the hands dealing out the cards were well-shapedand muscular. Somehow he looked very different, she could hardly explainhow or why, from the men round him. 

At last she moved round, so as to avoid being opposite to him. 

Yes, she felt more comfortable now, and slowly, almost insensibly, theglamour of play began to steal over Sylvia Bailey's senses. She began tounderstand the at once very simple and, to the uninitiated, intricategame 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 becometwenty francs. 

"Leave it on, " murmured Anna, "and see what happens--"

Sylvia followed her friend's advice, and a larger gold piece was added tothe 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 liveriedmen-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--andthere had been an implied understanding that she was only to look on, notplay. 

She felt terribly ashamed--a very unusual feeling for Sylvia Bailey--andthe gold pieces she held in her hand, for she had not yet put them in herpurse, felt as if they burnt her. 

But she found a friend, a defender in an unexpected quarter. The Countrose from the table. He said a few words in a low tone to the servant, and the man fell back. 

"Of course, this young lady may play, " he addressed Anna, "and as BankerI wish her all good luck! This is probably her first and her last visitto Lacville. " He smiled pleasantly, and a little sadly. Sylvia noticedthat he had a low, agreeable voice. 

"Take her away, Madame, when she has won a little more! Do not give hertime to lose what she has won. "

He spoke exactly as if Sylvia was a child. She felt piqued, and MadameWolsky stared at him rather haughtily. Still, she was grateful for hisintervention. 

"We thank you, Monsieur, " she said stiffly. "But I think we have beenhere quite long enough. "

He bowed, and again sat down. 

"I will now take you a drive, Sylvia. We have had sufficient of this!"

Anna walked towards the door, and many were the curious glances nowturned after the two friends. 

"It will amuse you to see something of Lacville. As that gentleman said, I do not suppose you will ever come here again. And, as I shall spendmost of my time in the Casino, I can very well afford to spare a littlewhile out of it to-day!"

They made their way out of the great white building, Sylvia feelingoppressed, almost bewildered, by her first taste of gambling. 

It was three o'clock, and very hot. They hailed one of the little opencarriages which are among the innocent charms of Lacville. 

"First you will go round the lake, " said Madame Wolsky to the driver, "and then you will take us to the Pension Malfait, in l'Avenue desAcacias. "

Under shady trees, bowling along sanded roads lined with pretty villasand châlets, they drove all round the lake, and more and more the placeimpressed Sylvia as might have done a charming piece of scene-painting. 

All the people they passed on the road, in carriages, in motor-cars, andon foot, looked happy, prosperous, gay, and without a care in the world;and where in the morning there had been one boat, there were now fivesailing on the blue, gleaming waters fringed with trees and floweringshrubs. 

At last they once more found themselves close to the Casino. A steadystream of people was now pouring in through the great glass doors. 

"This sort of thing will go on up till about nine this evening!"said Anna, smiling grimly. "Think, my dear--a hundred and twenty trainsdaily! That room in the Casino where I first saw you will be crammed tosuffocation within an hour, and even the Club will be well filled, thoughI fancy the regular habitués of the club are rather apt to avoid Saturdayand Sunday at Lacville. I myself, when living here, shall try to dosomething else on those two days. By the way--how dreadful that I shouldforget!--have you had a proper _déjeuner_?" she looked anxiously atSylvia. 

Sylvia laughed, and told something of her adventures at the Villa du Lac. 

"The Villa du Lac? I have heard of it, but surely it's an extremelyexpensive hotel? The place I've chosen for myself is farther away fromthe Casino; but the distance will force me to take a walk every day, andthat will be a very good thing. Last time I was at Monte Carlo I had alodging right up in Monaco, and I found that a very much healthier planthan to live close to the Casino, " Anna spoke quite seriously. "ThePension Malfait is really extraordinarily cheap for a place near Paris. I am only going to pay fifty-five francs a week, _tout compris_!"

They had now turned from the road encircling the lake, and were drivingthrough leafy avenues which reminded Sylvia of a London suburb where shehad once stayed. 

The châlets and villas by which they passed were not so large nor soprosperous-looking as those that bordered the lake, but still many ofthem were pretty and fantastic-looking little houses, and the gardenswere gay with flowers. 

"I suppose no one lives here in the winter!" said Sylvia suddenly. 

She had noticed, for in some ways she was very observant though in otherways strangely unseeing, that all the flowers were of the bedding-outvarieties; there were luxuriant creepers, but not a single garden thatshe passed had that indefinable look of being an old or a well-tendedgarden. 

"In the winter? Why, in the winter Lacville is an absolute desert, " saidAnna laughing. "You see, the Casino only has a summer Concession; itcannot open till April 15. Of course there are people who will tell youthat Lacville is the plague-pit of Paris, but that's all nonsense!Lacville is neither better nor worse than other towns near the capital!"

The carriage had now drawn up before a large, plain, white house, acrosswhich was painted in huge, black letters, "Hôtel-Pension Malfait. "

"This is the place I have found!" exclaimed Anna. "Would you care to comein and see the room I've engaged from next Monday week?"

Sylvia followed her into the house with curiosity and interest. Somehowshe did not like the Pension Malfait, though it was clear that it hadonce been a handsome private mansion standing in large grounds of itsown. The garden, however, had now been cut down to a small strip, and thewhole place formed a great contrast to the gay and charming Villa du Lac. 

What garden there was seemed uncared for, though an attempt had been madeto make it look pretty with the aid of a few geraniums and marguerites. 

M. Malfait, the proprietor of the Pension, whom Sylvia had already seenwith Anna at the Casino, now came forward in the hall, and Sylviacompared him greatly to his disadvantage, to the merry M. Polperro. 

"Madame has brought her friend?" he said eagerly, and staring at Sylviaas he spoke. "I hope that Madame's friend will come and stay with us too?I have a charming room which I could give this lady; but later on weshall be very full--full all the summer! The hot weather is a godsendfor Lacville; for it drives the Parisians out from their unhealthy city. "

He beckoned to his wife, a disagreeable-looking woman who was sitting ina little glass cage made in an angle of the square hall. 

"Madame Wolsky has brought this good lady to see our Pension!" heexclaimed, "and perhaps she is also coming to stay with us--"

In vain Sylvia smilingly shook her head. She was made to go all over thelarge, rather gloomy house, and to peep into each of the bare, uglybed-rooms. 

That which Anna had engaged had a window looking over the back of thehouse; Sylvia thought it singularly cheerless. There was, however, a goodarm-chair and a writing-table on which lay a new-looking blotter. It wasthe only bed-room containing such a luxury. 

"An English lady was staying here not very long ago, " observed M. Malfait, "and she bought that table and left it to me as a little giftwhen she went away. That was very gracious on her part!"

They glanced into the rather mournful-looking _salon_, of which thewindows opened out on the tiny garden. And then M. Malfait led themproudly into the dining-room, with its one long table, running down themiddle, on which at intervals were set dessert dishes filled with thenuts, grapes, and oranges of which Sylvia had already become so weary atthe Hôtel de l'Horloge. 

"My clientèle, " said M. Malfait gravely, "is very select and _chic_. Those of my guests who frequent the Casino all belong to the Club!"

He stated the fact proudly, and Sylvia was amused to notice that in thismatter he and mine host at the Villa du Lac apparently saw eye to eye. Both were eager to dissociate themselves from the ordinary gambler wholost or won a few francs in those of the gambling rooms open to thegeneral public. 

"Well, " said Anna at last, "I suppose we had better leave now, but wemight as well go on driving for about an hour, and then, when it is alittle cooler, we will go back to Paris and be there in time for tea. "

The driver was as good-natured as everyone else at Lacville seemed to be. He drove his fares away from the town, and so to the very outskirts ofLacville, where there were many charming bits of wild woodland andgardens up for sale. 

"Even five years ago, " he said, "much of this was forest, Mesdames; butnow--well, Dame!--you can understand people are eager to sell. There arerumours that the Concession may be withdrawn from the Casino--that wouldbe terrible, some say it would kill Lacville! It would be all the same tome, I should always find work elsewhere. But it makes everyone eager tosell--those, I mean, who have land at Lacville. There are others, "continued the man--he had turned round on his seat, and the horse wasgoing at a foot's pace--"who declare that it would be far better for thetown--that there would be a more solid population established here--youunderstand, Mesdames, what I mean? The Lacville tradesmen would be aspleased, quite as pleased, or so some of them say; but, all the same, they are selling their land!"

When the two friends finally got back to the Hôtel de l'Horloge, SylviaBailey found that a letter, which had not been given to her that morning, contained the news that the English friends whom she had been expectingto join in Switzerland the following week had altered their plans, andwere no longer going abroad. 

CHAPTER V

Sylvia could hardly have said how it came about that she found herselfestablished in the Villa du Lac only a week after her first visit toLacville! But so it was, and she found the change a delightful one fromevery point of view. 

Paris had suddenly become intolerably hot. As is the way with the Sirencity when June is half-way through, the asphalt pavements radiated heat;the air was heavy, laden with strange, unpleasing odours; and even thetrees, which form such delicious oases of greenery in the older quartersof the town were powdered with grey dust. 

Also Anna Wolsky had become restless--quite unlike what she had beenbefore that hour spent by her and by Sylvia Bailey in the Club atLacville; she had gone back there three times, refusing, almost angrily, the company of her English friend. For a day or two Sylvia had thoughtseriously of returning to England, but she had let her pretty house atMarket Dalling till the end of August; and, in spite of the heat, she didnot wish to leave France. 

Towards the end of the week Anna suddenly exclaimed:

"After all, why shouldn't you come out to Lacville, Sylvia? You can't goto Switzerland alone, and you certainly don't want to go on staying inParis as Paris is now! I do not ask you to go to the Pension Malfait, butcome to the Villa du Lac. You will soon make acquaintances in that sortof place--I mean, " she added, "in your hotel, not in the town. We couldalways spend the mornings together--"

"--And I, too, could join the Club at the Casino, " interjected Sylvia, smiling. 

"No, no, I don't want you to do that!" exclaimed Anna hastily. 

And then Sylvia, for some unaccountable reason, felt rather irritated. Itwas absurd of Anna to speak to her like that! Bill Chester, her trustee, and sometime lover, always treated her as if she was a child, and arather naughty child, too; she would not allow Anna Wolsky to do so. 

"I don't see why not!" she cried. "You yourself say that there is no harmin gambling if one can afford it. "

 * * * * *

This was how Sylvia Bailey came to find herself an inmate of the Villa duLac at Lacville; and when once the owner of the Hôtel de l'Horloge hadunderstood that in any case she meant to leave Paris, he had done all inhis power to make her going to his relation, mine host of the Villa duLac, easy and agreeable. 

Sylvia learnt with surprise that she would have to pay very little moreat the Villa du Lac than she had done at the Hôtel de l'Horloge; on theother hand, she could not there have the use of a sitting-room, for thegood reason that there were no private sitting-rooms in the villa. Butthat, so she told herself, would be no hardship, and she could spendalmost the whole of the day in the charming garden. 

The two friends arrived at Lacville late in the afternoon, and on aMonday, that is on the quietest day of the week. And when Anna hadleft Sylvia at the Villa du Lac, driving off alone to her own humbler_pension_, the young Englishwoman, while feeling rather lonely, realisedthat M. Polperro had not exaggerated the charm of his hostelry. 

Proudly mine host led Mrs. Bailey up the wide staircase into thespacious, airy room which had been prepared for her. "This was thebed-chamber of Madame la Comtesse de Para, the friend of the EmpressEugénie" he said. 

The windows of the large, circular room, mirror-lined, and stillcontaining the fantastic, rather showy decorations which dated from theSecond Empire, overlooked the broad waters of the lake. Even now, thoughit was still daylight, certain romantic-natured couples had lit paperlanterns and hung them at the prows of their little sailing-boats. 

The scene had a certain fairy-like beauty and stillness. 

"Madame will find the Villa du Lac far more lively now" exclaimed M. Polperro cheerfully. "Last week I had only M. Le Comte Paul de Virieu--nodoubt 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 loves them, yes, and he is a fine horseman, but CountPaul, alas! has other things that interest and occupy him more thanhorses!"

After M. Polperro had bowed himself out, Sylvia sat down close to one ofthe open windows and looked out over the enchanting, and to her Englisheyes, unusual panorama spread out before her. 

Yes, she had done well to come here, to a place of which, no doubt, manyof her English friends would have thoroughly disapproved! But, after all, what was wrong about Lacville? Where, for the matter of that, was theharm of playing for money if one could afford to lose it?

Sylvia had hardly ever met so kind or so intelligent a woman as washer new friend, Anna Wolsky: and Anna--she made no secret of it atall--allowed playing for money to be her one absorbing interest in life. 

As she thought of the Polish woman Sylvia felt sorry that she and herfriend were in different _pensions_. It would have been so nice to havehad her here, in the Villa du Lac. She felt rather lost without Anna, forshe had become accustomed to the other's pleasant, stimulatingcompanionship. 

M. Polperro had said that dinner was at half-past seven. Sylvia got upfrom her chair by the window. She moved back into the room and put on apretty white lace evening dress which she had not worn since she had beenin France. 

It would have been absurd to have appeared in such a gown in the littledining-room of the Hôtel de l'Horloge, which opened into the street; butthe Villa du Lac was quite different. 

As she saw herself reflected in one of the long mirrors let into thewall, Sylvia blushed and half-smiled. She had suddenly remembered theyoung man who had behaved, on that first visit of hers to the Villa duLac, so much more discreetly than had all the other Frenchmen with whomshe had been brought in temporary contact. She was familiar, throughnewspaper paragraphs, with the name of his brother-in-law, the Frenchduke who had won the Derby. The Duc d'Eglemont, that was the racingFrench duke who had carried off the blue riband of the British Turf--theother name was harder to remember--then it came to her. Count Paul deVirieu. How kind and courteous he had been to her and her friend inthe Club. She remembered him very vividly. Yes, though not exactlygood-looking, he had fine eyes, and a clever, if not a very happy, face. 

And then, on going down the broad, shallow staircase, and so through thelarge, oval hall into the dining-room, Sylvia Bailey saw that the man ofwhom she had been thinking was there, sitting very near to where sheherself was now told that she was to sit. In the week that had gone bysince Sylvia had paid her first visit to Lacville, the Villa hadgradually filled up with people eager, like herself, to escape from theheat and dust of Paris, and the pleasant little table by the window hadbeen appropriated by someone else. 

When the young Englishwoman came into the dining-room, the Comte deVirieu got up from his chair, and clicking his heels together, bowed lowand gravely. 

She had never seen a man do that before. And it looked so funny! Sylviafelt inclined to burst out laughing. But all she did was to nod gravely, and the Count, sitting down, took no further apparent notice of her. 

There were a good many people in the large room; parties of two, three, and four, talking merrily together, as is the way with French people attheir meals. No one was alone save the Comte de Virieu and herself. Sylvia wondered if he felt as lonely as she did. 

Towards the end of dinner the host came in and beamed on his guests; thenhe walked across to where Mrs. Bailey sat by herself. "I hope Madame issatisfied with her dinner, " he said pleasantly. "Madame must always tellme if there is anything she does not like. "

He called the youngest of the three waitresses. "Félicie! You must lookvery well after Madame, " he said solemnly. "Make her comfortable, attendto her slightest wish"--and then he chuckled--"This is my niece, " hesaid, "a very good girl! She is our adopted daughter. Madame will onlyhave to ask her for anything she wants. "

Sylvia felt much happier, and no longer lonely. It was all ratherabsurd--but it was all very pleasant! She had never met an hotel keeperlike little Polperro, one at once so familiar and so inoffensive inmanner. 

"Thank you so much, " she said, "but I am more than comfortable! And afterdinner I shall go to the Casino to meet my friend, Madame Wolsky. "

After they had finished dinner most of M. Polperro's guests streamed outinto the garden; and there coffee was served to them on little round irontables dotted about on the broad green lawn and sanded paths. 

One or two of the ladies spoke a kindly word to Sylvia as they passed byher, but each had a friend or friends, and she was once more feelinglonely and deserted when suddenly Count Paul de Virieu walked across towhere she was sitting by herself. 

Again he clicked his heels together, and again he bowed low. But alreadySylvia was getting used to these strange foreign ways, and she no longerfelt inclined to laugh; in fact, she rather liked the young Frenchman'sgrave, respectful manner. 

"If, as I suppose, Madame, seeing that you have come back to Lacville--"

Sylvia looked up with surprise painted on her fair face, for the Countwas speaking in English, and it was extremely good, almost perfectEnglish. 

"--and you wish to join the Club at the Casino, I hope, Madame, that youwill allow me to have the honour of proposing you as a member. "

He waited a moment, and then went on: "It is far better for a lady to beintroduced by someone who is already a member, than for the affair to bemanaged"--he slightly lowered his voice--"by an hotel keeper. I am wellknown to the Casino authorities. I have been a member of the Club forsome time--"

He stood still gazing thoughtfully down into her face. 

"But I am not yet sure that I shall join the Club, " said Sylvia, hesitatingly. 

He looked--was it relieved or sorry?

"I beg your pardon, Madame! I misunderstood. I thought you told M. Polperro just now in the dining-room that you were going to the Casinothis evening. "

Sylvia felt somewhat surprised. It was odd that he should have overheardher words to M. Polperro, amid all the chatter of their fellow-guests. 

"Yes, I am going to the Casino, " she said frankly, "but only to meet afriend of mine there, the lady with whom I was the other day when you sokindly interfered to save us, or rather to save _me_, from beingignominiously turned out of the Club. " And then she added, a littleshyly, "Won't you sit down?"

Again the Comte de Virieu bowed low before her, and then he sat down. 

"I fear you will not be allowed to go into the Club this time unless youbecome a member. They have to be very strict in these matters; to allow astranger in the Club at all is a legal infraction. The Casino authoritiesmight be fined for doing so. "

"How well you speak English!" exclaimed Sylvia, abruptly andirrelevantly. 

"I was at school in England, " he said, simply, "at a Catholic Collegecalled Beaumont, near Windsor; but now I do not go there as often asI should like to do. "

And then, scarcely knowing how it came about, Sylvia fell into easy, desultory, almost intimate talk with this entire stranger. But there wassomething very agreeable in his simple serious manners. 

After a while Sylvia suddenly remembered that the Count had thrown hiscigarette away before speaking to her. 

"Won't you smoke?" she said. 

"Are you sure you don't mind, Madame?"

"No, of course I don't mind!" and she was just going to add that herhusband had been a great smoker, when some feeling she could not haveanalysed to herself made her alter her words to "My father smoked all daylong--"

The Count got up and went off towards the house. Sylvia supposed he hadgone to get his cigarette-case; but a moment later he came back and satdown by her again. And then very soon out came the host's pretty littleniece with a shawl over her arm. "I have brought Madame a shawl, " saidthe girl, smiling, "for it's getting a little cold, " and Sylvia felttouched. How very kind French people were--how kind and how thoughtful!

It struck half-past eight. Mrs. Bailey and the Comte de Virieu had beentalking for quite a long time. 

Sylvia jumped up. "I must go now, " she cried, a little regretfully. "Ipromised to meet my friend in the hall of the Casino at half-past eight. She must be there waiting for me, now. "

"If you will allow me to do so, I will escort you to the Casino, " saidthe Count. 

Sylvia ran upstairs to put on her hat and gloves. On the table which didduty for a dressing-table there was a small nosegay of flowers in a glassof water. It had not been there before she had come down to dinner. 

As she put on a large black tulle hat she told herself with a happy smilethat Lacville was an enchanting, a delightful place, and that she alreadyfelt quite at home here!

The Comte de Virieu was waiting for her in the hall. 

"I think I ought to introduce myself to you, Madame, " he said solemnly. "My name is Paul de Virieu. "

"And mine is Sylvia Bailey, " she said, a little breathlessly. 

As they were hurrying along the short piece of road which led to the lanein which the Casino of Lacville is situated, the Count said suddenly, "Will you pardon me, Madame, if I take the liberty of saying that youshould arrange for your friend to call for you on those evenings that youintend to spend at the Casino? It is not what English people call'proper' for you to go to the Casino alone, or only accompanied bya stranger--for I, alas! am still a stranger to you. "

There was no touch of coquetry or flirtation in the voice in which hesaid those words. Sylvia blushed violently, but she did not feel annoyed, only queerly touched by his solicitude for--well, she supposed it was forher reputation. 

"You see, Madame, " he went on soberly, "you look very young--I mean, pardon me, you _are_ very young, and I will confess to you that the firsttime I saw you I thought you were a 'Miss. ' Of course, I saw at once thatyou were English. "

"An English girl would hardly have come all by herself to Lacville!" saidSylvia a little flippantly. 

"Oh, Madame, English young ladies do such strange things!"

Sylvia wondered if the Count were not over-particular. Was Lacville thesort of place in which a woman could not walk a few yards by herself? Itlooked such a happy, innocent sort of spot. 

"Perhaps I do not make myself clear, " went on Count Paul. 

He spoke very quickly, and in a low voice, for they were now approachingthe door of the Casino. "Not very long ago a lady had her hand-bagsnatched from her within a few yards of the police-station, in the centreof the town. Everyone comes here to make or to lose money--"

"But most of the people look so quiet and respectable, " she said smiling. 

"That is true, but there are the exceptions. Lacville contains moreexceptions than do most places, Madame. "

They were now in the hall of the Casino. Yes, there was Anna Wolskylooking eagerly at the great glass doors. 

"Anna? Anna? Here I am! I'm so sorry I'm late!"

Sylvia turned to introduce the Comte de Virieu to Madame Wolsky, buthe was already bowing stiffly, and before she could speak he walked on, leaving Mrs. Bailey with her friend. 

"I see you've already made one acquaintance, Sylvia, " said the Polishlady dryly. 

"That's the man who was so kind the last time we were here together. Heis staying at the Villa du Lac, " Sylvia answered, a little guiltily. "Hisname is Count Paul de Virieu. "

"Yes, I am aware of that; I know him by sight quite well, " Anna saidquickly. 

"And he has offered to propose me as a member of the Club if I wish tojoin, " added Sylvia. 

"_I_ shall propose you--of course!" exclaimed Anna Wolsky. "But I do notthink it is worth worrying about your membership to-night. We can spendthe evening downstairs, in the public Salle des Jeux. I should not careto leave you alone there, even on a Monday evening. "

"You talk as if I were sugar or salt that would melt!" said Sylvia, alittle vexed. 

"One has to be very careful in a place like Lacville, " said Anna shortly. "There are all sorts of queer people gathered together here on thelook-out for an easy way of making money. " She turned an affectionatelook on her friend. "You are not only very pretty, my dear Sylvia, butyou look what the people here probably regard as being of far moreconsequence, that is, opulent. "

"So I am, " said Sylvia gaily, "opulent and very, very happy, dear Anna!I am so glad that you brought me here, and first made me acquainted withthis delightful place! I am sure Switzerland would not have been half asamusing as Lacville--"

 * * * * *

The public gambling room was much quieter and emptier than it had beenon the Saturday when Sylvia had first seen it. But all the people playingthere, both those sitting at the table and those who stood in serriedranks behind them, looked as if they were engaged on some seriousundertaking. 

They did not appear, as the casual holiday crowd had done, free fromcare. There was comparatively little talking among them, and each roundof the monotonous game was got through far quicker than had been the casethe week before. Money was risked, lost, or gained, with extraordinaryswiftness and precision. 

A good many of the people there, women as well as men, glanced idly fora moment at the two newcomers, but they soon looked away again, intent ontheir play. 

Sylvia felt keenly interested. She could have stopped and watched thescene for hours without wanting to play herself; but Anna Wolsky soongrew restless, and started playing. Even risking a few francs was betterto her than not gambling at all!

"It's an odd thing, " she said in a low voice, "but I don't see here anyof the people I'm accustomed to see at Monte Carlo. As a rule, wheneverone goes to this kind of place one meets people one has seen before. Wegamblers are a caste--a sect part!"

"I can't bear to hear you call yourself a gambler, " said Sylvia in a lowvoice. 

Anna laughed good-humouredly. 

"Believe me, my dear, there is not the difference you apparently thinkthere is between a gambler and the man who has never touched a card. "

Anna Wolsky looked round her as she spoke with a searching glance, andthen she suddenly exclaimed, "Yes, I do know someone here after all! That funny-looking couple overthere were at Aix-les-Bains all last summer. "

"Which people do you mean?" asked Sylvia eagerly. 

"Don't you see that long, thin man who is so queerly dressed--and hisshort, fat wife? A dreadful thing happened to them--a great friend oftheirs, a Russian, was drowned in Lac Bourget. It made a great deal oftalk in Aix at the time it happened. "

Sylvia Bailey looked across the room. She was able to pick out in amoment the people Anna meant, and perhaps because she was in good spiritsto-night, she smiled involuntarily at their rather odd appearance. 

Standing just behind the _croupier_--whose task it is to rake in and todeal out the money--was a short, stout, dark woman, dressed in a brightpurple gown, and wearing a pale blue bonnet particularly unbecoming toher red, massive face. She was not paying much attention to the play, though now and again she put a five-franc piece onto the green baize. Instead, her eyes were glancing round restlessly this way and that, almost as if she were seeking for someone. 

Behind her, in strong contrast to herself, was a tall, thin, lanky man, to Sylvia's English eyes absurdly as well as unsuitably dressed in a greyalpaca suit and a shabby Panama hat. In his hand he held open a smallbook, in which he noted down all the turns of the game. Unlike his short, stout wife, this tall, thin man seemed quite uninterested in the peopleabout him, and Sylvia could see his lips moving, his brows frowning, asif he were absorbed in some intricate and difficult calculation. 

The couple looked different from the people about them; in a word, theydid not look French. 

"The man--their name is Wachner--only plays on a system, " whispered Anna. "He is in fact what I call a System Maniac. That is why he keeps notingdown the turns in his little book. That sort of gambler ought never toleave Monte Carlo. It is only at Monte Carlo--that is to say, atRoulette--that such a man ever gets a real chance of winning anything. I should have expected them to belong to the Club, and not to troubleover this kind of play!"

Even as she spoke, Anna slightly inclined her head, and the woman at whomthey were both looking smiled broadly, showing her strong white teeth asshe did so; and then, as her eyes travelled from Anna Wolsky to Anna'scompanion, they became intent and questioning. 

Madame Wachner, in spite of her unwieldy form, and common, showy clothes, was fond of beautiful things, and especially fond of jewels. She waswondering whether the pearls worn by the lovely young Englishwomanstanding opposite were real or sham. 

The two friends did not stay very long in the Casino on that firstevening. Sylvia drove Anna to the Pension Malfait, and then she came backalone to the Villa du Lac. 

 * * * * *

Before drawing together the curtains of her bed-room windows, SylviaBailey stood for some minutes looking out into the warm moonlit night. 

On the dark waters of the lake floated miniature argosies, laden withlovers seeking happiness--ay, and perhaps finding it, too. 

The Casino was outlined with fairy lamps; the scene was full of glamour, and of mysterious beauty. More than ever Sylvia was reminded of anexquisite piece of scene painting, and it seemed to her as if she werethe heroine of a romantic opera--and the hero, with his ardent eyes andmelancholy, intelligent face, was Count Paul de Virieu. 

She wondered uneasily why Anna Wolsky had spoken of the Count as she haddone--was it with dislike or only contempt?

Long after Sylvia was in bed she could hear the tramping made by the feetof those who were leaving the Casino and hurrying towards the station;but she did not mind the sound. All was so strange, new, and delightful, and she fell asleep and dreamt pleasant dreams. 

CHAPTER VI

On waking the next morning, Sylvia Bailey forgot completely for a momentwhere she was. 

She looked round the large, airy room, which was so absolutely unlike thesmall bed-room she had occupied in the Hôtel de l'Horloge, with a senseof bewilderment and surprise. 

And then suddenly she remembered! Why of course she was at Lacville; andthis delightful, luxurious room had been furnished and arranged for thelady-in-waiting and friend of the Empress Eugénie. The fact gave an addedtouch of romance to the Hôtel du Lac. 

A ray of bright sunlight streamed in through the curtains she had pinnedtogether the night before. And her travelling clock told her that it wasnot yet six. But Sylvia jumped out of bed, and, drawing back thecurtains, she looked out, and across the lake. 

The now solitary expanse of water seemed to possess a new beauty in theearly morning sunlight, and the white Casino, of which the minarets werereflected in its blue depths, might have been a dream palace. Nothingbroke the intense stillness but the loud, sweet twittering of the birdsin the trees which surrounded the lake. 

But soon the spell was broken. When the six strokes of the hour chimedout from the old parish church which forms the centre of the town ofLacville, as if by enchantment there rose sounds of stir both indoors andout. 

A woman came out of the lodge of the Villa du Lac, and slowly opened thegreat steel and gilt gates. 

Sylvia heard the rush of bath water, even the queer click-click of ashower bath. M. Polperro evidently insisted on an exceptional standard ofcleanliness for his household. 

Sylvia felt fresh and well. The languor induced by the heat of Paris hadleft her. There seemed no reason why she should not get up too, and evengo out of doors if so the fancy pleased her. 

She had just finished dressing when there came curious sounds from thefront of the Villa, and again she went over to her window. 

A horse was being walked up and down on the stones of the courtyard infront of the horseshoe stairway which led up to the hall door. It was notyet half-past six. Who could be going to ride at this early hour of themorning?

Soon her unspoken question was answered; for the Comte de Virieu, clad inriding breeches and a black jersey, came out of the house, and close onhis heels trotted M. Polperro, already wearing his white chef's cap andapron. 

Sylvia could hear his "M'sieur le Comte" this, and "M'sieur le Comte"that, and she smiled a little to herself. The owner of the Hôtel du Lacwas very proud of his noble guest. 

The Comte de Virieu was also laughing and talking; he was more animatedthan she had yet seen him. Sylvia told herself that he looked very wellin his rather odd riding dress. 

Waving a gay adieu to mine host, he vaulted into the saddle, and thenrode out of the gates, and so sharply to the left. 

Sylvia wondered if he were going for a ride in the Forest of Montmorency, which, in her lying guide-book, was mentioned as the principal attractionof Lacville. 

There came a knock at the door, and Sylvia, calling out "Come in!" wassurprised, and rather amused, to see that it was M. Polperro himself whoopened it. 

"I have come to ask if Madame has slept well, " he observed, "and also toknow if she would like an English breakfast? If yes, it shall be laid inthe dining-room, unless Madame would rather have it up here. "

"I would much rather come downstairs to breakfast, " said Sylvia; "but Ido not want anything yet, M. Polperro. It will do quite well if I havebreakfast at half-past eight or nine. "

She unpacked her trunks, and as she put her things away it suddenlystruck her that she meant to stay at Lacville for some time. It wasan interesting, a new, even a striking experience, this of hers; andthough she felt rather lost without Anna Wolsky's constant presence andcompanionship, she was beginning to find it pleasant to be once more herown mistress. 

She sat down and wrote some letters--the sort of letters that can bewritten or not as the writer feels inclined. Among them was a duty letterto her trustee, Bill Chester, telling him of her change of address, andof her change of plan. 

The people with whom she had been going to Switzerland were friends ofBill Chester too, and so it was doubtful now whether he would go abroadat all. 

And all the time Sylvia was writing there was at the back of her minda curious, unacknowledged feeling that she was waiting for something tohappen, that there was something pleasant for her to look forward to. .. . 

And when at last she went down into the dining-room, and Paul de Virieucame in, Sylvia suddenly realised, with a sense of curious embarrassment, what it was she had been waiting for and looking forward to. It was hermeeting with the Comte de Virieu. 

"I hope my going out so early did not disturb you, " he said, in hisexcellent English. "I saw you at your window. "

Sylvia shook her head, smiling. 

"I had already been awake for at least half an hour, " she answered. 

"I suppose you ride? Most of the Englishwomen I knew as a boy rode, androde well. "

"My father was very anxious I should ride, and as a child I was welltaught, but I have not had much opportunity of riding since I grew up. "

Sylvia reddened faintly, for she fully expected the Count to ask her ifshe would ride with him, and she had already made up her mind to say"No, " though to say "Yes" would be very pleasant!

But he did nothing of the sort. Even at this early hour of theiracquaintance it struck Sylvia how unlike the Comte de Virieu's mannerto her was to that of the other young men she knew. While his manner wasdeferential, even eager, yet there was not a trace of flirtation in it. Also the Count had already altered all Sylvia Bailey's preconceivednotions of Frenchmen. 

Sylvia had supposed a Frenchman's manner to a woman to be almostinvariably familiar, in fact, offensively familiar. She had had thenotion that a pretty young woman--it would, of course, have been absurdfor her to have denied, even to herself, that she was very pretty--mustbe careful in her dealing with foreigners, and she believed it to be afact that a Frenchman always makes love to an attractive stranger, evenon the shortest acquaintance!

This morning, and she was a little piqued that it was so, Sylvia had toadmit to herself that the Comte de Virieu treated her much as he mighthave done some old lady in whom he took a respectful interest. .. . 

And yet twice during the half-hour her breakfast lasted she looked up tosee his blue eyes fixed full on her with an earnest, inquiring gaze, andshe realised that it was not at all the kind of gaze Paul de Virieu wouldhave turned on an old lady. 

They got up from their respective tables at the same moment. He openedthe door for her, and then, after a few minutes, followed her out intothe garden. 

"Have you yet visited the _potager_?" he asked, deferentially. 

Sylvia looked at him, puzzled. "_Potager_" was quite a new French word toher. 

"I think you call it the kitchen-garden. " A smile lit up his face. "Thepeople who built the Villa du Lac a matter of fifty years ago were veryfond of gardening. I think it might amuse you to see the _potager_. Allowme to show it you. "

They were now walking side by side. It was a delicious day, and the dewstill glistened on the grass and leaves. Sylvia thought it would be verypleasant, and also instructive, to see a French kitchen-garden. 

"Strange to say when I was a child I was often at the Villa du Lac, forthe then owner was a distant cousin of my mother. He and his kind wifeallowed me to come here for my convalescence after a rather seriousillness when I was ten years old. My dear mother did not like me to befar from Paris, so I was sent to Lacville. "

"What a curious place to send a child to!" exclaimed Sylvia. 

"Ah, but Lacville was extremely different from what it is now, Madame. True, there was the lake, where Parisians used to come out each Sundayafternoon to fish and boat in a humble way, and there were a few villasbuilt round the lake. But you must remember that in those prehistoricdays there was no Casino! It is the Casino which has transformed Lacvilleinto what we now see. "

"Then we have reason to bless the Casino!" cried Sylvia, gaily. 

They had now left behind them the wide lawn immediately behind the Villadu Lac, and were walking by a long, high wall. The Count pushed open anarrow door set in an arch in the wall, and Sylvia walked through intoone of the largest and most delightful kitchen-gardens she had ever seen. 

It was brilliant with colour and scent; the more homely summer flowersfilled the borders, while, at each place where four paths met, a round, stone-rimmed basin, filled with water to the brim, gave a sense ofpleasant coolness. 

The farther end of the walled garden was bounded by a stone orangery, abuilding dating from the eighteenth century, and full of the statelygrace of a vanished epoch. 

"What a delightful place!" Sylvia exclaimed. "But this garden must costM. Polperro a great deal of money to keep up--"

The Comte de Virieu laughed. 

"Far from it! Our clever host hires out his _potager_ to a firm of marketgardeners, part of the bargain being that they allow him to have as muchfruit and vegetables as he requires throughout the year. Why, the_potager_ of the Villa du Lac supplies the whole of Lacville with fruitand flowers! When I was a child I thought this part of the gardenparadise, and I spent here my happiest hours. "

"It must be very odd for you to come back and stay in the Villa now thatit is an hotel. "

"At first it seemed very strange, " he answered gravely. "But now I havebecome quite used to the feeling. "

They walked on for awhile along one of the narrow flower-bordered paths. 

"Would you care to go into the orangery?" he said. "There is not much tosee there now, for all the orange-trees are out of doors. Still, it is aquaint, pretty old building. "

The orangery of the Villa du Lac was an example of that at onceartificial and graceful eighteenth-century architecture which, perhapsbecause of its mingled formality and delicacy, made so distinguishedand attractive a setting to feminine beauty. It remained, the onlysurvival of the dependencies of a château sacked and burned in the GreatRevolution, more than half a century before the Villa du Lac was built. 

The high doors were wide open, and Sylvia walked in. Though all thepot-plants and half-hardy shrubs were sunning themselves in the open-air, the orangery did not look bare, for every inch of the inside walls hadbeen utilised for growing grapes and peaches. 

There was a fountain set in the centre of the stone floor, and near thefountain was a circular seat. 

"Let us sit down, " said Paul de Virieu suddenly. But when Sylvia Baileysat down he did not come and sit by her, instead he so placed himselfthat he looked across at her slender, rounded figure, and happy smilingface. 

"Are you thinking of staying long at Lacville, Madame?" he askedabruptly. 

"I don't know, " she answered hesitatingly. "It will depend on my friendMadame Wolsky's plans. If we both like it, I daresay we shall stay threeor four weeks. "

There fell what seemed to Sylvia a long silence between them. TheFrenchman was gazing at her with a puzzled, thoughtful look. 

Suddenly he got up, and after taking a turn up and down the orangery, hecame and stood before her. 

"Mrs. Bailey!" he exclaimed. "Will you permit me to be ratherimpertinent?"

Sylvia reddened violently. The question took her utterly by surprise. Butthe Comte de Virieu's next words at once relieved, and yes, it must beadmitted, chagrined her. 

"I ask you, Madame, to leave Lacville! I ask permission to tell youfrankly and plainly that it is not a place to which you ought to havebeen brought. "

He spoke with great emphasis. 

Sylvia looked up at him. She was bewildered, and though not exactlyoffended, rather hurt. 

"But why?" she asked plaintively. "Why should I not stay at Lacville?"

"Oh, well, there can be no harm in your staying on a few days if youare desirous of doing so. But Lacville is not a place where I shouldcare for my own sister to come and stay. " He went on, speaking muchquicker--"Indeed, I will say more! I will tell you that Lacville mayseem a paradise to you, but that it is a paradise full of snakes. "

"Snakes?" repeated Sylvia slowly. "You mean, of course, human snakes?"

He bowed gravely. 

"Every town where reigns the Goddess of play attracts reptiles, Madame, as the sun attracts lizards! It is not the game that does so, or even thelove of play in the Goddess's victims; no, it is the love of gold!"

Sylvia noticed that he had grown curiously pale. 

"Lacville as a gambling centre counts only next to Monte Carlo. Butwhereas many people go to Monte Carlo for health, and for various formsof amusement, people only come here in order to play, and to see othersplay. The Casino, which doubtless appears to you a bright, pretty place, has been the scene and the cause of many a tragedy. Do you know how Parisregards Lacville?" he asked searchingly. 

"No--yes, " Sylvia hesitated. "You see I never heard of Lacville tillabout a week ago. " Innate honesty compelled her to add, "But I have heardthat the Paris trades-people don't like Lacville. "

"Let me tell you one thing, " the Count spoke with extraordinaryseriousness. "Every tradesman in Paris, without a single exception, has signed a petition imploring the Government to suspend the GamblingConcession!"

"What an extraordinary thing!" exclaimed Sylvia, and she was surprisedindeed. 

"Pardon me, it is not at all extraordinary. A great deal of the moneywhich would otherwise go into the pockets of these tradesmen goes now toenrich the anonymous shareholders of the Casino of Lacville! Of course, Paris hotel-keepers are not in quite the same position as are the otherParisian trades-people. Lacville does not do them much harm, for theplace is so near Paris that foreigners, if they go there at all, generally go out for the day. Only the most confirmed gambler caresactually to _live_ at Lacville. "

He looked significantly at Sylvia, and she felt a wave of hot colourbreak over her face. 

"Yes, I know what you must be thinking, and it is, indeed, the shamefultruth! I, Madame, have the misfortune to be that most miserable and mostGod-forsaken of living beings, a confirmed gambler. "

The Count spoke in a tone of stifled pain, almost anger, and Sylvia gazedup at his stern, sad face with pity and concern filling her kind heart. 

"I will tell you my story in a few words, " he went on, and then he satdown by her, and began tracing with his stick imaginary patterns on thestone floor. 

"I was destined for what I still regard as the most agreeable career inthe world--that of diplomacy. You see how I speak English? Well, Madame, I speak German and Spanish equally well. And then, most unhappily for me, my beloved mother died, and I inherited from her a few thousand pounds. I felt very miserable, and I happened to be at the moment idle. A friendpersuaded me to go to Monte Carlo. That fortnight, Madame, changed mylife--made me what the English call 'an idle good-for-nothing. ' Can youwonder that I warn you against staying at Lacville?"

Sylvia was touched, as well as surprised, by his confidences. His wordsbreathed sincerity, and the look of humiliation and pain on his face haddeepened. He looked white and drawn. 

"It is very kind of you to tell me this, and I am very much obliged toyou for your warning, " she said in a low tone. 

But the Comte de Virieu went on as if he hardly heard her words. 

"The lady with whom you first came to Lacville--I mean the Polishlady--is well known to me by sight. For the last three years I haveseen her at Monte Carlo in the winter, and at Spa and Aix-les-Bains inthe summer. Of course I was not at all surprised to see her turn up here, but I confess, Madame, that I was very much astonished to see with hera"--he hesitated a moment--"a young English lady. You would, perhaps, beoffended if I were to tell you exactly what I felt when I saw you at theCasino!"

"I do not suppose I should be offended, " said Sylvia softly. 

"I felt, Madame, as if I saw a lily growing in a field of high, rank, evil-smelling--nay, perhaps I should say, poisonous--weeds. "

"But I cannot go away now!" cried Sylvia. She was really impressed--veryuncomfortably impressed--by his earnest words. "It would be most unkindto my friend, Madame Wolsky. Surely, it is possible to stay at Lacville, and even to play a little, without anything very terrible happening?" Shelooked at him coaxingly, anxiously, as a child might have done. 

But Sylvia was not a child; she was a very lovely young woman. Comte Paulde Virieu's heart began to beat. 

But, bah! This was absurd! His day of love and love-making lay far, farbehind him. He rose and walked towards the door. 

In speaking to her as he had forced himself to speak, the Frenchman haddone an unselfish and kindly action. Sylvia's gentle and unsophisticatedcharm had touched him deeply, and so he had given her what he knew to bethe best possible advice. 

"I am not so foolish as to pretend that the people who come and play inthe Casino of Lacville are all confirmed gamblers, " he said, slowly. "WeFrench take our pleasures lightly, Madame, and no doubt there is many anexcellent Parisian bourgeois who comes here and makes or loses his fewfrancs, and gets no harm from it. But, still, I swore to myself that Iwould warn you of the danger--"

They went out into the bright sunshine again, and Sylvia somehow felt asif she had made a friend--a real friend--in the Comte de Virieu. It wasa curious sensation, and one that gave her more pleasure than she wouldhave cared to own even to herself. 

Most of the men she had met since she became a widow treated her as anirresponsible being. Many of them tried to flirt with her for the merepleasure of flirting with so pretty a woman; others, so she wasresentfully aware, had only become really interested in her when theybecame aware that she had been left by her husband with an income of twothousand pounds a year. She had had several offers of marriage since herwidowhood, but not one of the men who had come and said he loved her hadconfessed as much about himself as this stranger had done. 

She was the more touched and interested because the Frenchman's mannerwas extremely reserved. Even in the short time she had been at the Villadu Lac, Sylvia had realised that though the Count was on speaking termswith most of his fellow-guests, he seemed intimate with none of thepeople whose happy chatter had filled the dining-room the night before. 

Just before going back into the Villa, Sylvia stopped short; she fixedher large ingenuous eyes on the Count's face. 

"I want to thank you again, " she said diffidently, "for your kindnessin giving me this warning. You know we in England have a proverb, 'Forewarned is forearmed. ' Well, believe me, I will not forget what youhave said, and--and I am grateful for your confidence. Of course, Iregard it as quite private. "

The Count looked at her for a moment in silence, and then he said verydeliberately, "I am afraid the truth about me is known to all those good enough toconcern themselves with my affairs. I am sure, for instance, that yourPolish friend is well aware of it! You see before you a man who has lostevery penny he owned in the world, who does not know how to work, and whois living on the charity of relations. "

Sylvia had never heard such bitter accents issue from human lips before. 

"The horse you saw me ride this morning, " he went on in a low tone, "isnot my horse; it belongs to my brother-in-law. It is sent for me everyday because my sister loves me, and she thinks my health will suffer ifI do not take exercise. My brother-in-law did not give me the horse, though he is the most generous of human beings, for he feared that ifhe did I should sell it in order that I might have more money for play. "

There was a long, painful pause, then in a lighter tone the Count added, "And now, au revoir, Madame, and forgive me for having thrust my privateaffairs on your notice! It is not a thing I have been tempted ever to dobefore with one whom I have the honour of knowing as slightly as I knowyourself. "

Sylvia went upstairs to her room. She was touched, moved, excited. It wasquite a new experience with her to come so really near to any man's heartand conscience. 

Life is a secret and a tangled skein, full of loose, almost invisiblethreads. This curiously intimate, and yet impersonal conversation withone who was not only a stranger, but also a foreigner, made her realisehow little we men and women really know of one another. How small was herknowledge, for instance, of Bill Chester--though, to be sure, of himthere was perhaps nothing to know. How really little also she knew ofAnna Wolsky! They had become friends, and yet Anna had never confided toher any intimate or secret thing about herself. Why, she did not evenknow Anna's home address!

Sylvia felt that there was now a link which hardly anything could breakbetween herself and this Frenchman, whom she had never seen till a weekago. Even if they never met again after to-day, she would never forgetthat he had allowed her to see into the core of his sad, embitteredheart. He had lifted a corner of the veil which covered his conscience, and he had done this in order that he might save her, a stranger, fromwhat he knew by personal experience to be a terrible fate!

CHAPTER VII

Two hours later Sylvia Bailey was having luncheon with Anna Wolsky in thePension Malfait. 

The two hostelries, hers and Anna's, were in almost absurd contrast theone to the other. At the Villa du Lac everything was spacious, luxurious, and quiet. M. Polperro's clients spent, or so Sylvia supposed, much oftheir time in their own rooms upstairs, or else in the Casino, while manyof them had their own motors, and went out on long excursions. They werecosmopolitans, and among them were a number of Russians. 

Here at the Pension Malfait, the clientèle was French. All was loudtalking, bustle, and laughter. The large house contained several youngmen who had daily work in Paris. Others, like Madame Wolsky, were atLacville in order to indulge their passion for play, and quite a numberof people came in simply for meals. 

Among these last, rather to Sylvia's surprise, were Monsieur and MadameWachner, the middle-aged couple whom Anna Wolsky had pointed out ashaving been at Aix-les-Bains the year before, at the same time as shewas herself. 

The husband and wife were now sitting almost exactly opposite Anna andSylvia at the narrow table d'hôte, and again a broad, sunny smile lit upthe older woman's face when she looked across at the two friends. 

"We meet again!" she exclaimed in a guttural voice, and then in French, addressing Madame Wolsky, "This is not very much like Aix-les-Bains, isit, Madame?"

Anna shook her head. 

"Still it is a pretty place, Lacville, and cheaper than one would think. "She leant across the table, and continued in a confidential undertone:"As for us--my husband and I--we have taken a small villa; he has grownso tired of hotels. "

"But surely you had a villa at Aix?" said Anna, in a surprised tone. 

"Yes, we had a villa there, certainly. But then a very sad affairhappened to us--" she sighed. "You may have heard of it?" and she fixedher small, intensely bright eyes inquiringly on Anna. 

Anna bent her head. 

"Yes, I heard all about it" she said gravely. "You mean about your friendwho was drowned in the lake? It must have been a very distressing thingfor you and your husband. "

"Yes, indeed! He never can bear to speak of it. "

And Sylvia, looking over at the man sitting just opposite to herself, sawa look of unease come over his sallow face. He was eating his omelettesteadily, looking neither to the right nor to the left. 

"Ami Fritz!" cried his wife, turning suddenly to him, and this time shespoke English, "Say, 'How d'you do, ' to this lady! You will remember thatwe used to see 'er at Aix, in the Casino there?"

"Ami Fritz" bowed his head, but remained silent. 

"Yes, " his wife went on, volubly, "that sad affair made Aix veryunpleasant to us! After that we spent the winter in various pensions, and then, instead of going back to Aix, we came 'ere. So far, I am quitesatisfied with Lacville. "

Though she spoke with a very bad accent and dropped her aitches, herEnglish was quick and colloquial. 

"Lacville is a cosy, 'appy place!" she cried, and this time she smiledfull at Sylvia, and Sylvia told herself that the woman's face, if veryplain, was like a sunflower, --so broad, so kindly, so good-humoured!

When déjeuner was over, the four had coffee together, and the melancholyMonsieur Wachner, who was so curiously unlike his bright, vivacious wife, at last broke into eager talk, for he and Anna Wolsky had begun todiscuss different gambling systems. His face lighted up; it was easyto see what interested and stimulated this long, lanky man whose wifeaddressed him constantly as "Ami Fritz. "

"Now 'e is what the English call 'obby-'orse riding, " she exclaimed, witha loud laugh. "To see 'im in all 'is glory you should see my Fritz atMonte Carlo!" she was speaking to Sylvia. "There 'as never been a systeminvented in connection with that devil-game, Roulette, that L'Ami Fritzdoes not know, and that 'e 'as not--at some time or other--played more to'is satisfaction than to mine!" But she spoke very good-humouredly. "'Ecannot ring many changes on Baccarat, and I do not often allow 'im toplay downstairs. No, no, that is too dangerous! That is for children andfools!"

Sylvia was still too ignorant of play to understand the full significanceof Madame Wachner's words, but she was vaguely interested, though shecould not understand one word of the eager talk between Anna and the man. 

"Let us leave them at it!" exclaimed the older woman, suddenly. "It willbe much nicer in the garden, Madame, for it is not yet too 'ot for out ofdoors. By the way, I forgot to tell you my name. That was very rude ofme! My name is Wachner--Sophie Wachner, at your service. "

"And my name is Bailey--Sylvia Bailey. "

"Ah, I thought so--you are a Mees!"

"No, " said Sylvia gravely, "I am a widow. "

Madame Wachner's face became very serious. 

"Ah, " she said, sympathetically, "that is sad--very sad for one so youngand so beautiful!"

Sylvia smiled. Madame Wachner was certainly a kindly, warm-hearted sortof woman. 

They walked out together into the narrow garden, and soon Madame Wachnerbegan to amuse her companion by lively, shrewd talk, and they spent apleasant half hour pacing up and down. 

The Wachners seemed to have travelled a great deal about the world andespecially in several of the British Colonies. 

It was in New Zealand that Madame Wachner had learnt to speak English:"My 'usband, 'e was in business there, " she said vaguely. 

"And you?" she asked at last, fixing her piercing eyes on the prettyEnglishwoman, and allowing them to travel down till they rested on themilky row of perfectly-matched pearls. 

"Oh, this is my first visit to France, " answered Sylvia, "and I amenjoying it very much indeed. "

"Then you 'ave not gambled for money yet?" observed Madame Wachner. "InEngland they are too good to gamble!" She spoke sarcastically, but Sylviadid not know that. 

"I never in my life played for money till last week, and then I wonthirty francs!"

"Ah! Then now surely you will join the Club?"

"Yes, " said Sylvia a little awkwardly. "I suppose I shall join the Club. You see, my friend is so fond of play. "

"I believe you there!" cried the other, familiarly. "We used to watchMadame Wolsky at Aix--my 'usband and I. It seems so strange that therewe never spoke to 'er, and that now we seem to know 'er already somuch better than we did in all the weeks we were together at Aix! Butthere"--she sighed a loud, heaving sigh--"we 'ad a friend--a dear youngfriend--with us at Aix-les-Bains. "

"Yes, I know, " said Sylvia, sympathisingly. 

"You know?" Madame Wachner looked at her quickly. "What is it that youknow, Madame?"

"Madame Wolsky told me about it. Your friend was drowned, was he not? Itmust have been very sad and dreadful for you and your husband. "

"It was terrible!" said Madame Wachner vehemently. "Terrible!"

 * * * * *

The hour in the garden sped by very quickly, and Sylvia was rather sorrywhen it came to be time to start for the Casino. 

"Look here!" cried Madame Wachner suddenly. "Why should not L'Ami Fritzescort Madame Wolsky to the Casino while you and I take a pretty drive?I am so tired of that old Casino--and you will be so tired of it soon, too!" she exclaimed in an aside to Sylvia. 

Sylvia looked questioningly at Anna. 

"Yes, do take a drive, dear. You have plenty of time, for I intend tospend all this afternoon and evening at the Casino, " said Madame Wolsky, quickly, in answer to Sylvia's look. "It will do quite well if you comethere after you have had your tea. My friend will never go without herafternoon tea;" she turned to Madame Wachner. 

"I, too, love afternoon tea!" cried Madame Wachner, in a merry tone. "Then that is settled! You and I will take a drive, and then we will 'avetea and then go to the Casino. "

Mrs. Bailey accompanied her friend upstairs while Anna put on her thingsand got out her money. 

"You will enjoy a drive on this hot day, even with that funny old woman, "said Madame Wolsky, affectionately. "And meanwhile I will get yourmembership card made out for the Club. If you like to do so, you mighthave a little gamble this evening. But I do not want my sweet Englishfriend to become as fond of play as I am myself"--there crept a sad noteinto her voice. "However, I do not think there is any fear of that!"

When the two friends came downstairs again, they found Monsieur andMadame Wachner standing close together and speaking in a low voice. Asshe came nearer to them Sylvia saw that they were so absorbed in eachother that they did not see her, and she heard the man saying in a low, angry voice, in French: "There is nothing to be done here at all, Sophie!It is foolish of us to waste our time like this!" And then Madame Wachneranswered quickly, "You are always so gloomy, so hopeless! I tell youthere _is_ something to be done. Leave it to me!"

Then, suddenly becoming aware that Sylvia was standing beside her, theold woman went on: "My 'usband, Madame, always says there is nothing tobe done! You see, 'e is tired of 'is last system, and 'e 'as not yetinvented another. But, bah! I say to 'im that no doubt luck will cometo-day. 'E may find Madame Wolsky a mascot. " She was very red and lookeddisturbed. 

"I 'ave asked them to telephone for an open carriage, " Madame Wachneradded, in a better-humoured tone. "It will be here in three or fourminutes. Shall we drive you first to the Casino?" This question she askedof her husband. 

"No, " said Monsieur Wachner, harshly, "certainly not! I will walk in anycase. "

"And I will walk too, " said Anna, who had just come up. "There is no needat all for us to take you out of your way. You had better drive at onceinto the open country, Sylvia. "

And so they all started, Madame Wolsky and her tall, gaunt, morosecompanion, walking, while Sylvia and Madame Wachner drove off in theopposite direction. 

The country immediately round Lacville is not pretty; the little opencarriage was rather creaky, and the horse was old and tired, and yetSylvia Bailey enjoyed her drive very much. 

Madame Wachner, common-looking, plain, almost grotesque in appearancethough she was, possessed that rare human attribute, vitality. 

Sometimes she spoke in French, sometimes in English, changing from theone to the other with perfect ease; and honestly pleased at havingescaped a long, dull, hot afternoon in the Casino, the older woman setherself to please and amuse Sylvia. She thoroughly succeeded. A clevergossip, she seemed to know a great deal about all sorts of interestingpeople, and she gave Sylvia an amusing account of Princess MathildeBonaparte, whose splendid château they saw from their little carriage. 

Madame Wachner also showed the most sympathetic interest in Sylvia andSylvia's past life. Soon the Englishwoman found herself telling her newacquaintance a great deal about her childhood and girlhood--somethingeven of her brief, not unhappy, married life. But she shrank back, bothmentally and physically, when Madame Wachner carelessly observed, "Ah, but soon you will marry again; no doubt you are already engaged?"

"Oh, no!" Sylvia shook her head. 

"But you are young and beautiful. It would be a crime for you not to getmarried again!" Madame Wachner persisted; and then, "I love beauty, " shecried enthusiastically. "You did not see me, Madame, last week, but I sawyou, and I said to my 'usband, 'There is a very beautiful person come toLacville, Fritz!' 'E laughed at me. 'Now you will be satisfied--now youwill 'ave something to look at, ' 'e says. And it is quite true! When Icome back that night I was very sorry to see you not there. But we willmeet often now, " she concluded pleasantly, "for I suppose, Madame, thatyou too intend to play?"

That was the second time she had asked the question. 

"I shall play a little, " said Sylvia, blushing, "but of course I do notwant to get into the habit of gambling. "

"No, indeed, that would be terrible! And then there are not many who canafford to gamble and to lose their good money. " She looked inquiringly atSylvia. "But, there, " she sighed--her fat face became very grave--"it isextraordinary 'ow some people manage to get money--I mean those 'oo aredetermined to play!"

And then, changing the subject, Madame Wachner suddenly began to tellher new acquaintance all about the tragic death by drowning of her andher husband's friend at Aix-les-Bains the year before. She now spoke inFrench, but with a peculiar guttural accent. 

"I never talk of it before Fritz, " she said quickly, "but, of course, we both often think of it still. Oh, it was a terrible thing! We weredevoted to this young Russian friend of ours. He and Fritz worked anexcellent system together--the best Fritz ever invented--and for a littlewhile they made money. But his terribly sad death broke our luck"--sheshook her head ominously. 

"How did it happen?" said Sylvia sympathetically. 

And then Madame Wachner once again broke into her h-less English. 

"They went together in a boat on Lake Bourget--it is a real lake, thatlake, not like the little fishpond 'ere. A storm came on, and the boatupset. Fritz did his best to save the unfortunate one, but 'e could notswim. You can imagine my sensations? I was in a summer-'ouse, tremblingwith fright. Thunder, lightning, rain, storm, all round! Suddenly I seeFritz, pale as death, wet through, totter up the path from the lake. 'Where is Sasha?' I shriek out to 'im. And 'e shake 'is 'eaddespairingly--Sasha was in the lake!"

The speaker stared before her with a look of vivid terror on her face. Itwas almost as if she saw the scene she was describing--nay, as if she sawthe pale, dead face of the drowned man. It gave her companion a coldfeeling of fear. 

"And was it long before they found him?" asked Sylvia in a low tone. 

"They never did find 'im, " said Madame Wachner, her voice sinking to awhisper. "That was the extraordinary thing--Sasha's body was never found!Many people thought the money 'e 'ad on 'is person weighed 'im down, kept'im entangled in the weeds at the bottom of the lake. Did not your friendtell you it made talk?"

"Yes, " said Sylvia. 

"'E 'ad not much money on 'is person, " repeated Madame Wachner, "butstill there was a good deal more than was found in 'is bed-room. That, ofcourse, was 'anded over to the authorities. They insisted on keeping it. "

"But I suppose his family got it in the end?" said Sylvia. 

"No. 'E 'ad no family. You see, our friend was a Russian nobleman, buthe had also been a Nihilist, so 'e 'ad concealed 'is identity. It wasfortunate for us that we 'ad got to know an important person in thepolice; but for that we might 'ave 'ad much worry"--she shook her head. "They were so much annoyed that poor Sasha 'ad no passport. But, as Isaid to them--for Fritz quite lost 'is 'ead, and could say nothing--not'alf, no, not a quarter of the strangers in Aix 'as passports, though, ofcourse, it is a good and useful thing to 'ave one. I suppose, Madame, that _you_ 'ave a passport?"

She stopped short, and looked at Sylvia with that eager, inquiring lookwhich demands an answer even to the most unimportant question. 

"A passport?" repeated Sylvia Bailey, surprised. "No, indeed! I've nevereven seen one. Why should I have a passport?"

"When you are abroad it is always a good thing to 'ave a passport, " saidMadame Wachner quickly. "You see, it enables you to be identified. Itgives your address at 'ome. But I do not think that you can get onenow--no, it is a thing that one must get in one's own country, or, at anyrate, " she corrected herself, "in a country where you 'ave resided a longtime. "

"What is your country, Madame?" asked Sylvia. "Are you French? I supposeMonsieur Wachner is German?"

Madame Wachner shook her head. 

"Oh, 'e would be cross to 'ear that! No, no, Fritz is Viennese--a gayViennese! As for me, I am"--she waited a moment--"well, Madame, I am whatthe French call '_une vraie cosmopolite_'--oh, yes, I am a truecitizeness of the world. "

CHAPTER VIII

They had been driving a considerable time, and at last the coachman, turning round on his seat, asked where they wished to go next. 

"I ask you to come and 'ave tea with me, " said Madame Wachner turning toSylvia. "We are not very far from the Châlet des Muguets, and I 'ave someexcellent tea there. We will 'ave a rest, and tell the man to come backfor us in one hour. What do you think of that, Madame?"

"It is very kind of you, " said Sylvia gratefully; and, indeed, she didthink it very kind. It would be pleasant to rest a while in the Wachner'svilla and have tea there. 

Sylvia was in the mood to enjoy every new experience, however trifling, and she had never been in a French private house. 

"Au Châlet des Muguets, " called out Madame Wachner to the driver. 

He nodded and turned his horse round. 

Soon they were making their way along newly-made roads, cut through whathad evidently been, not so very long before, a great stretch of forestland. 

"The good people of Lacville are in a hurry to make money, " observedMadame Wachner in French. "I am told that land here has nearly trebled invalue the last few years, though houses are still cheap. "

"It seems a pity they should destroy such beautiful woods, " said Sylviaregretfully, remembering what the Comte de Virieu had said only thatmorning. 

The other shrugged her shoulders, "I do not care for scenery--no, not atall!" she exclaimed complacently. 

The carriage drew up with a jerk before a small white gate set in low, rough, wood palings. Behind the palings lay a large, straggling, anduntidy garden, relieved from absolute ugliness by some high forest treeswhich had been allowed to remain when the house in the centre of the plotof ground was built. 

Madame Wachner stepped heavily out of the carriage, and Sylvia followedher, feeling amused and interested. She wondered very much what theinside of the funny little villa she saw before her would be like. In anycase, the outside of the Châlet des Muguets was almost ludicrously unlikethe English houses to which she was accustomed. 

Very strange, quaint, and fantastic looked the one-storey building, standing far higher than any bungalow Sylvia had ever seen, in a lawnof high, rank grass. 

The walls of the Châlet des Muguets were painted bright pink, picked outwith sham brown beams, which in their turn were broken at intervals bylarge blue china lozenges, on which were painted the giant branches oflilies-of-the-valley which gave the villa its inappropriate name!

The chocolate-coloured row of shutters were now closed to shut out theheat, for the sun beat down pitilessly on the little house, and the wholeplace had a curiously deserted, unlived-in appearance. 

Sylvia secretly wondered how the Wachners could bear to leave the garden, which might have been made so pretty with a little care, in such a stateof neglect and untidiness. Even the path leading up to the side of thehouse, where jutted out a mean-looking door, was covered with weeds. 

But Madame Wachner was evidently very pleased with her temporary home, and quite satisfied with its surroundings. 

"It is a pretty 'ouse, is it not?" she asked in English, and smilingbroadly. "And only one thousand francs, furnished, for the 'ole season!"

Sylvia quickly made a mental calculation. Forty pounds? Yes, she supposedthat was very cheap--for Lacville. 

"We come in May, and we may stay till October, " said Madame Wachner, still speaking in a satisfied tone. "I made a bargain with a woman fromthe town. She comes each morning, cooks what I want, and does the'ousework. Often we 'ave our déjeuner out and dine at 'ome, or we dineclose to the Casino--just as we choose. Food is so dear in France, itmakes little difference whether we stay at 'ome or not for meals. "

They were now close to the chocolate-coloured door of the Châlet, andMadame Wachner, to Sylvia Bailey's surprise and amusement, lifted acorner of the shabby outside mat, and took from under it a key. Withit she opened the door. "Walk in, " she said familiarly, "and welcome, Madame, to my 'ome!"

Sylvia found herself in a bare little hall, so bare indeed that there wasnot even a hat and umbrella stand there. 

Her hostess walked past her and opened a door which gave into a darkenedroom. 

"This is our dining-room, " she said proudly. "Walk in, Madame. It is 'erewe had better 'ave tea, perhaps. "

Sylvia followed her. How dark, and how very hot it was in here! She couldsee absolutely nothing for some moments, for she was blinded by thesudden change from the bright light of the hall to the dim twilight ofthe closely-shuttered room. 

Then gradually she began to see everything--or rather the little therewas to be seen--and she felt surprised, and a little disappointed. 

The dining-room was more than plainly furnished; it was positively ugly. 

The furniture consisted of a round table standing on an unpolishedparquet floor, of six cane chairs set against the wall, and of awalnut-wood buffet, on the shelves of which stood no plates, or ornamentsof any description. The walls were distempered a reddish-pink colour, andhere and there the colour had run in streaky patches. 

"Is it not charming?" exclaimed Madame Wachner. "And now I will show youour pretty little salon!"

Sylvia followed her out into the hall, and so to the left into the shortpassage which ran down the centre of the tiny house. 

The drawing-room of the Châlet des Muguets was a little larger thanthe dining-room, but it was equally bare of anything pretty or evenconvenient. There was a small sofa, covered with cheap tapestry, and fouruncomfortable-looking chairs to match; on the sham marble mantelpiecestood a gilt and glass clock and two chandeliers. There was not a book, not a paper, not a flower. 

Both rooms gave Sylvia a strange impression that they were very littlelived in. But then, of course, the Wachners were very little at home. 

"And now I will get tea, " said Madame Wachner triumphantly. 

"Will you not let me help you?" asked Sylvia, timidly. "I love makingtea--every Englishwoman loves making tea. " She had no wish to be left inthis dull, ugly little drawing-room by herself. 

"Oh, but your pretty dress! Would it not get 'urt in the kitchen?" criedMadame Wachner deprecatingly. 

But she allowed Sylvia to follow her into the bright, clean littlekitchen, of which the door was just opposite the drawing-room. 

"What a charming little _cuisine_!" cried Sylvia smiling. She was glad tofind something that she could honestly praise, and the kitchen was, intruth, the pleasantest place in the house, exquisitely neat, with thebrass _batterie de cuisine_ shining and bright. "Your day servant must bean exceptionally clean woman. "

"Yes, " said Madame Wachner, in a rather dissatisfied tone, "she is wellenough. But, oh, those French people, how eager they are for money! Doyou suppose that woman ever stays one minute beyond her time? No, indeed!"

Even as she spoke she was pouring water into a little kettle, andlighting a spirit lamp. Then, going to a cupboard, she took out two cupsand a cracked china teapot. 

Sylvia did her part by cutting some bread and butter, and, as she stoodat the white table opposite the kitchen window, she saw that beyond thesmall piece of garden which lay at the back of the house was a densechestnut wood, only separated from the Châlet des Muguets by a stragglinghedge. 

"Does the wood belong to you, too?" she asked. 

Madame Wachner shook her head. 

"Oh! no, " she said, "that is for sale!"

"You must find it very lonely here at night, " said Sylvia, musingly, "youdo not seem to have any neighbours either to the right or left. "

"There is a villa a little way down the road, " said Madame Wachnerquickly. "But we are not nervous people--and then we 'ave nothing itwould be worth anybody's while to steal. "

Sylvia reminded herself that the Wachners must surely have a good deal ofmoney in the house if they gambled as much as Anna Wolsky said they did. Her hostess could not keep it all in the little bag which she alwayscarried hung on her wrist. 

And then, as if Madame Wachner had seen straight into her mind, the oldwoman said significantly. "As to our money, I will show you where we keepit. Come into my bed-room; perhaps you will take off your hat there; thenwe shall be what English people call 'cosy. '"

Madame Wachner led the way again into the short passage, and so into alarge bed-room, which looked, like the kitchen, on to the back garden. 

After the kitchen, this bed-room struck Sylvia as being the pleasantestroom in the Châlet des Muguets, and that although, like the dining-roomand drawing-room, it was extraordinarily bare. 

There was no chest of drawers, no dressing-table, no cupboard to be seen. Madame Wachner's clothes hung on pegs behind the door, and there was alarge brass-bound trunk in a corner of the room. 

But the broad, low bed looked very comfortable, and there was a bath-roomnext door. 

Madame Wachner showed her guest the bath-room with great pride. 

"This is the 'English comfortable, '" she said, using the quaint phrasethe French have invented to express the acme of domestic luxury. "My'usband will never allow me to take a 'ouse that has no bath-room. 'E isvery clean about 'imself"--she spoke as if it was a fact to be proud of, and Sylvia could not help smiling. 

"I suppose there are still many French houses without a bath-room, " shesaid. 

"Yes, " said Madame Wachner quickly, "the French are not a cleanpeople, "--she shook her head scornfully. 

"I suppose you keep your money in that box?" said Sylvia, looking at thebrass-bound trunk. 

"No, indeed! _This_ is where I keep it!"

Madame Wachner suddenly lifted her thin alpaca skirt, and Sylvia, withastonishment, saw that hung round her capacious waist were a number oflittle wash-leather bags. "My money is all 'ere!" exclaimed MadameWachner, laughing heartily. "It rests--oh, so cosily--against mypetticoat. "

They went back into the kitchen. The water was boiling, and Sylvia madethe tea, Madame Wachner looking on with eager interest. 

"La! La! it will be strong! I only put a pinch for ourselves. And now gointo the dining-room, and I will bring the teapot there to you, Madame!"

"No, no, " said Sylvia laughing, "why should we not drink our tea here, inthis pretty kitchen?"

The other looked at her doubtfully. "Shall we?"

"Yes, of course!" cried Sylvia. 

They drew up two rush-bottomed chairs to the table and sat down. 

Sylvia thoroughly enjoyed this first taste of Madame Wachner'shospitality. The drive and the great heat had made her feel tired andlanguid, and the tea did her good. 

"I will go and see if the carriage is there, " said Madame Wachner atlast. 

While her hostess was away, Sylvia looked round her with some curiosity. 

What an extraordinary mode of life these people had chosen forthemselves! If the Wachners were rich enough to gamble, surely they hadenough money to live more comfortably than they were now doing? It wasclear that they hardly used the dining-room and drawing-room of thelittle villa at all. When Sylvia had been looking for the butter, she hadnot been able to help seeing that in the tiny larder there was only asmall piece of cheese, a little cold meat, and a couple of eggs on aplate. No wonder Monsieur Wachner had heartily enjoyed the copious, ifrather roughly-prepared, meal at the Pension Malfait. 

"Yes, the carriage is there, " said Madame Wachner bustling back. "And nowwe must be quick, or L'Ami Fritz will be cross! Do you know that absurdman actually still thinks 'e is master, and yet we 'ave been married--oh, I do not know 'ow many years! But he always loves seeing me even after we'ave been separated but two hours or so!"

Together they went out, Madame Wachner carefully locking the door andhiding the key where she had found it, under the mat outside. 

Sylvia could not help laughing. 

"I really wonder you do that, " she observed. "Just think how easy itwould be for anyone to get into the house!"

"Yes, that is true, but there is nothing to steal. As I tell you, wealways carry our money about with us, " said Madame Wachner. She added ina serious tone, "and I should advise you to do so too, my dear youngfriend. "

CHAPTER IX

A quarter of an hour's sharp driving brought Sylvia and Madame Wachner tothe door of the Casino. They found Madame Wolsky in the hall waiting forthem. 

"I couldn't think what had happened to you!" she exclaimed in an anxioustone. "But here is your membership card, Sylvia. Now you are free of theBaccarat tables!"

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

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

Sylvia Bailey felt very much amused. So poor "Ami Fritz" was not allowedto 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 hadbeen engaged--that was clear--in putting down the turns of the game, andin working out what were no doubt abstruse calculations connected withhis system. 

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

"I have been quite lucky, " she whispered to Sylvia. "I have made threehundred 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 twentyfrancs the first time; on the other hand, if you feel _en veine_, if theluck seems persistent--it sometimes is when one first plays withgold--then be bold, and do not hesitate!"

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

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

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

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 werenow four gold pieces where two had been. 

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

And Sylvia obediently followed the advice. 

Again there came a little pause; once more the words which she had notyet learnt to understand rang out in the croupier's monotonous voice. 

She looked round her; there was anxiety and watchful suspense on all theeager 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 ofthe Count on the table. Then suddenly she put back the eighty francs onthe 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'ssmile seemed to say to Paul de Virieu--"but this is so _very_ exciting!"

He felt stirred to the heart. How sweet, how confidingly simple shelooked! And--and how very beautiful. He at once loved and hated to seeher 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 twentyfrancs!" whispered back Sylvia. 

And once more she won. 

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

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

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

Then something very surprising happened to Sylvia. 

Someone--she thought it was Monsieur Wachner--addressed the croupierwhose duty it was to deal out the cards, and said imperiously, "_A Madamela main!_"

Hardly knowing what she was doing, Sylvia took up the cards which hadbeen 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 whichbrought luck to the table and confusion to the banker. 

Eyes full of adoring admiration, aye and gratitude, were turned on theyoung Englishwoman. Paul de Virieu alone did not look at her. But hefollowed 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 soterrible to make him lose too!

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

And then, after that, it seemed as if the whole table were followingSylvia's game. 

"That pretty Englishwoman is playing for the first time!"--so the wordwent 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 affordit. 

At the end of half an hour, feeling tired and bewildered by her goodfortune, Mrs. Bailey got up and moved away from the table, the possessorof £92. The Comte Virieu had won exactly the same amount. 

Now everybody looked pleased except the banker. For the first time asmile 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 embraceyou! But I know that English ladies do not like kissing in public. It issplendid--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 abeginning. 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 ourfriend here. What 'ave you made?" she asked him. 

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

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

But Sylvia hardly heard. She could not help wondering why the Count hadnot come up and congratulated her. The thought that she had brought himluck 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. Thisaloofness gave Sylvia a curious little feeling of discomfiture. Why, several strangers had come up and cordially thanked her for bringing themsuch luck. 

"Let us come out of this place and 'ave some ices, " exclaimed MadameWachner, suddenly. "When l'Ami Fritz 'as a stroke of luck 'e often treats'is old wife to an ice. "

The four went out of the Casino and across the way to an hotel, which, as Madame Wachner explained to her two new friends, contained the bestrestaurant in Lacville. The sun was sinking, and, though it was stillvery hot, there was a pleasant breeze coming up from the lake. 

Sylvia felt excited and happy. How wonderful--how marvellous--to makenearly £100 out of a twenty-franc piece! That was what she had done thisafternoon. 

And then, rather to her surprise, after they had all enjoyed ices andcakes at Madame Wachner's expense, Anna Wolsky and l'Ami Fritz declaredthey were going back to the Casino. 

"I don't mean to play again to-night, " said Sylvia, firmly. "I feeldreadfully tired, " and the excitement had indeed worn her out. Shelonged to go back to the Hôtel du Lac. 

Still, she accompanied the others to the Club, and together with MadameWachner, she sat down some way from the tables. In a very few minutesthey were joined by the other two, who had by now lost quite enough goldpieces to make them both feel angry with themselves, and, what was indeedunfair, with poor Sylvia. 

"I'm sure that if you had played again, and if we had followed your play, we should have added to our winnings instead of losing, as we have done, "said Anna crossly. 

"I'm so sorry, " and Sylvia felt really distressed. Anna had never spokencrossly to her before. 

"Forgive me!" cried the Polish woman, suddenly softening. "I ought not tohave said that to you, dear little friend. No doubt we should all havelost just the same. You know that fortune-teller told me that I shouldmake plenty of money--well, even now I have had a splendid day!"

"Do come back with me and have dinner at the Villa du Lac, " said Sylviaeagerly. 

They shook hands with the Wachners, and as they walked the short distancefrom the Casino to the villa, Sylvia told Anna all about her visit to theChâlet des Muguets. 

"They seem nice homely people, " she said, "and Madame Wachner was reallyvery kind. "

"Yes, no doubt; but she is a very strict wife, " answered Anna smiling. "The poor man had not one penny piece till she came in, and he got soangry and impatient waiting for her! I really felt inclined to lend hima little money; but I have made it a rule never to lend money in aCasino; it only leads to unpleasantness afterwards. "

In the hall of the Villa du Lac the Comte de Virieu was standing readinga paper. He was dressed for dinner, and he bowed distantly as the twoladies came in. 

"Why, there is the Comte de Virieu!" exclaimed Anna, in a low, and farfrom a pleased tone. "I had no idea he was staying here. "

"Yes, he is staying here, " said Sylvia, blushing uneasily, and quicklyshe led the way upstairs. It wanted a few minutes to seven. 

Anna Wolsky waited till the door of Sylvia's room was shut, and then, "I cannot help being sorry that you are staying in the same hotel as thatman, " she said, seriously. "Do not get to know him too well, dear Sylvia. The Count is a worthless individual; he has gambled away two fortunes. And now, instead of working, he is content to live on an allowance madeto him by his sister's husband, the Duc d'Eglemont. If I were you, I should keep on very distant terms with him. He is, no doubt, alwayslooking out for a nice rich woman to marry. "

Sylvia made no answer. She felt she could not trust herself to speak; andthere came over her a feeling of intense satisfaction that Anna Wolskywas not staying here with her at the Villa du Lac. 

She also made up her mind that next time she entertained Anna she woulddo so at the restaurant of which the cooking had been so highly commendedby Madame Wachner. 

The fact that Madame Wolsky thought so ill of the Comte de Virieu madeSylvia feel uncomfortable all through dinner. But the Count, though heagain bowed when the two friends came into the dining-room, did not comeover and speak to them, as Sylvia had felt sure he would do this evening. 

After dinner he disappeared, and Sylvia took Anna out into the garden. But she did not show her the _potager_. The old kitchen-garden alreadyheld for her associations which she did not wish to spoil or even todisturb. 

Madame Wolsky, sipping M. Polperro's excellent coffee, again mentionedthe Count. 

"I am exceedingly surprised to see him here at Lacville, " she said in amusing voice, "I should have expected him to go to a more _chic_ place. He always plays in the winter at Monte Carlo. "

Sylvia summoned up courage to protest. 

"But, Anna, " she exclaimed, "surely the Comte de Virieu is only doingwhat 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 potcalling the kettle black. ' How excellent are your English proverbs, dearSylvia! But no, it is quite different. Take me. I have an income, andchoose to spend it in gambling. I might prefer to have a big house, orperhaps I should say a small house, for I am not a very rich woman. Butno, I like play, and I am free to spend my money as I like. The Comte deVirieu is very differently situated! He is, so I've been told, a clever, cultivated man. He ought to be working--doing something for his country'sgood. And then he is so disagreeable! He makes no friends, noacquaintances. He always looks as if he was doing something of whichhe was ashamed. He never appears gay or satisfied, not even when heis winning--"

"He does not look as cross as Monsieur Wachner, " said Sylvia, smiling. 

"Monsieur Wachner is like me, " said Anna calmly. "He probably made afortune in business, and now he and his wife enjoy risking a little moneyat play. Why should they not?"

"Madame Wachner told me to-day all about their poor friend who wasdrowned, " said Sylvia irrelevantly. 

"Ah, yes, that was a sad affair! They were very foolish to become sointimate with him. Why, they actually had him staying with them at thetime! You see, they had a villa close to the lake-side. And this youngRussian, it appears, was very fond of boating. It was a mysteriousaffair, because, oddly enough, he had not been out in the town, or evento the Casino, for four days before the accident happened. There was anotion among some people that he had committed suicide, but that, Ifancy, was not so. He had won a large sum of money. Some thought the goldweighed down his body in the water--. But that is absurd. It must havebeen the weeds. "

"Madame Wachner told me that quite a lot of money was found in his room, "said Sylvia quickly. 

"No, that is not true. About four hundred francs were found in hisbed-room. That was all. I fancy the police made themselves ratherunpleasant to Monsieur Wachner. The Russian Embassy made inquiries, andit seemed so odd to the French authorities that the poor fellow could notbe identified. They found no passport, no papers of any sort--"

"Have you a passport?" asked Sylvia. "Madame Wachner asked me if I hadone. But I've never even seen a passport!"

"No, " said Anna, "I have not got a passport now. I once had one, but Ilost it. One does not require such a thing in a civilised country! But aRussian must always have a passport, it is an absolute law in Russia. Andthe disappearance of that young man's passport was certainly strange--infact, the whole affair was mysterious. "

"It must have been terrible for Monsieur and Madame Wachner, " said Sylviathoughtfully. 

"Oh yes, very disagreeable indeed! Luckily he is entirely absorbed in hisabsurd systems, and she is a very cheerful woman. "

"Yes, indeed she is!" Sylvia could not help smiling. "I am glad we havegot to know them, Anna. It is rather mournful when one knows no one atall in a place of this kind. "

And Anna agreed, indifferently. 

CHAPTER X

And then there began a series of long cloudless days for Sylvia Bailey. For the first time she felt as if she was seeing life, and such seeingwas very pleasant to her. 

Not in her wildest dreams, during the placid days of her girlhoodand brief married life, had she conceived of so interesting and soexhilarating an existence as that which she was now leading! And thiswas perhaps owing in a measure to the fact that there is, if one may soexpress it, a spice of naughtiness in life as led at Lacville. 

In a mild, a very mild, way Sylvia Bailey had fallen a victim to theGoddess of Play. She soon learned to look forward to the hours she andAnna Wolsky spent each day at the baccarat tables. But, unlike Anna, Sylvia was never tempted to risk a greater sum on that dangerous greencloth than she could comfortably afford to lose, and perhaps just becausethis was so, on the whole she won money rather than lost it. 

A certain change had come over the relations of the two women. They stillmet daily, if only at the Casino, and they occasionally took a walk or adrive together, but Madame Wolsky--and Sylvia Bailey felt uneasy andgrowing concern that it was so--now lived for play, and play alone. 

Absorbed in the simple yet fateful turns of the game, Anna would remainsilent for hours, immersed in calculations, and scarcely aware of whatwent on round her. She and Monsieur Wachner--"L'Ami Fritz, " as evenSylvia had fallen into the way of calling him--seemed scarcely aliveunless they were standing or sitting round a baccarat table, putting downor taking up the shining gold pieces which they treated as carelessly asif they were counters. 

But it was not the easy, idle, purposeless life she was now leading thatbrought the pretty English widow that strange, unacknowledged feeling ofentire content with life. 

What made existence at Lacville so exciting and so exceptionallyinteresting to Sylvia Bailey was her friendship with Comte Paul deVirieu. 

There is in every woman a passion for romance, and in Sylvia this passionhad been baulked, not satisfied, by her first marriage. 

Bill Chester loved her well and deeply, but he was her lawyer and trusteeas well as her lover. He had an honest, straightforward nature, and whenwith her something always prompted Chester to act the part of candidfriend, and the part of candid friend fits in very ill with that oflover. To take but one example of how ill his honesty of purpose servedhim in the matter, Sylvia had never really forgiven him the "fuss" he hadmade about her string of pearls. 

But with the Comte de Virieu she never quite knew what to be at, andmystery is the food of romance. 

At the Villa du Lac the two were almost inseparable, and yet sointelligently and quietly did the Count arrange their frequentmeetings--their long walks and talks in the large deserted garden, theirpleasant morning saunters through the little town--that no one, or soSylvia believed, was aware of any special intimacy between them. 

Sometimes, as they paced up and down the flower-bordered paths of the oldkitchen-garden, or when, tired of walking, they made their way into theorangery and sat down on the circular stone bench by the fountain, Sylviawould remember, deep in her heart, the first time Count Paul had broughther there; and how she had been a little frightened, not perhapsaltogether unpleasantly so, by his proximity!

She had feared--but she was now deeply ashamed of having entertained sucha thought--that he might suddenly begin making violent love to her, thathe might perhaps try to kiss her! Were not all Frenchmen of his typerather gay dogs?

But nothing--nothing of the sort had ever been within measurable distanceof happening. On the contrary, he always treated her with scrupulousrespect, and he never--and this sometimes piqued Sylvia--made love toher, or attempted to flirt with her. Instead, he talked to her in thatintimate, that confiding fashion which a woman finds so attractive in aman when she has reason to believe his confidences are made to her alone. 

When Bill Chester asked her not to do something she desired to do, Sylviafelt annoyed and impatient, but when Count Paul, as she had fallen intothe way of calling him, made no secret of his wish that she should giveup play, Sylvia felt touched and pleased that he should care. 

Early in their acquaintance the Count had warned her against makingcasual friendships in the Gambling Rooms, and he even did not like herknowing--this amused Sylvia--the harmless Wachners. 

When he saw her talking to Madame Wachner in the Club, Count Paul wouldlook across the baccarat table and there would come a little frown overhis eyes--a frown she alone could see. 

And as the days went on, and as their intimacy seemed to grow closer andever closer, there came across Sylvia a deep wordless wish--and she hadnever longed for anything so much in her life--to rescue her friend fromwhat he admitted to be his terrible vice of gambling. In this she showedrather a feminine lack of logic, for, while wishing to wean him from hisvice, she did not herself give up going to the Casino. 

She would have been angry indeed had the truth been whispered to her, thetruth that it was not so much her little daily gamble--as Madame Wachnercalled it--that made Sylvia so faithful an attendant at the Club; it wasbecause when there she was still with Paul de Virieu, she could see andsympathise with him when he was winning, and grieve when he was losing, as alas! he often lost. 

When they were not at the Casino the Comte de Virieu very seldom alludedto his play, or to the good or ill fortune which might have befallen himthat day. When with her he tried, so much was clear to Sylvia, to forgethis passion for gambling. 

But this curious friendship of hers with Count Paul only occupied, in amaterial sense, a small part of Sylvia's daily life at Lacville; and thepeople with whom she spent most of her time were still Anna Wolsky andMonsieur and Madame Wachner, or perhaps it should be said Madame Wachner. 

It was not wonderful that Mrs. Bailey liked the cheerful woman, who wasso bright and jovial in manner, and who knew, too, how to flatter socleverly. When with Madame Wachner Sylvia was made to feel that she wasnot only very pretty, but also immensely attractive, and just now she wasvery anxious to think herself both. 

 * * * * *

Late one afternoon--and they all four always met each afternoon at theCasino--Madame Wachner suddenly invited Sylvia and Anna to come back tosupper at the Châlet des Muguets. 

Anna was unwilling to accept the kindly invitation. It was clear that shedid not wish to waste as much time away from the Casino as going to theWachners' villa would involve. But, seeing that Sylvia was eager to go, she gave way. 

Now on this particular afternoon Sylvia was feeling rather dull, and, asshe expressed it to herself, "down on her luck, " for the Comte de Virieuhad gone into Paris for a few hours. 

His sister, the Duchesse d'Eglemont, had come up from the country fora few days, and the great pleasure and delight he had expressed at thethought of seeing her had given the young English widow a little pang ofpain. It made her feel how little she counted in his life after all. 

And so, for the second time, Sylvia visited the odd, fantastic-lookingChâlet des Muguets, and under very pleasant auspices. 

This evening the bare dining-room she had thought so ugly wore an air offestivity. There were flowers on the round table and on the buffet, but, to her surprise, a piece of oilcloth now hid the parquet floor. Thispuzzled Sylvia, as such trifling little matters of fact often puzzlea fresh young mind. Surely the oilcloth had not been there on her lastvisit to the villa? She remembered clearly the unpolished parquet floor. 

Thanks to the hostess and to Sylvia herself, supper was a bright, merrymeal. There was a variety of cold meats, some fine fruit, and a plate ofdainty pastry. 

They all waited on one another, though Madame Wachner insisted on doingmost of the work. But L'Ami Fritz, for once looking cheerful and eager, mixed the salad, putting in even more vinegar than oil, as Mrs. Baileylaughingly confessed that she hated olive oil!

After they had eaten their appetising little meal, the host went off intothe kitchen where Sylvia had had tea on her first visit to the Châlet, and there he made the most excellent coffee for them all, and even Mrs. Bailey, who was treated as the guest of honour, though she knew thatcoffee was not good for her, was tempted into taking some. 

One thing, however, rather dashed her pleasure in the entertainment. 

Madame Wachner, forgetting for once her usual tact, suddenly made aviolent attack on the Comte de Virieu. 

They were all talking of the habitués of the Casino: "The only one I donot like, " she exclaimed, in French, "is that Count--if indeed Count hebe? He is so arrogant, so proud, so rude! We have known him for years, have L'Ami Fritz and I, for we are always running across him at MonteCarlo and other places. But no, each time we meet he looks at us as if hewas a fish. He does not even nod!"

"When the Comte de Virieu is actually playing, he does not know thatother people exist, " said Anna Wolsky, slowly. 

She had looked across at Sylvia and noticed her English friend's blushand look of embarrassment. "I used to watch him two years ago at MonteCarlo, and I have never seen a man more absorbed in his play. "

"That is no excuse!" cried Madame Wachner, scornfully. "Besides, that isonly half the truth. He is ashamed of the way he is spending his life, and he hates the people who see him doing it! It is shameful to be soidle. A strong young man doing nothing, living on charity, so they say!And he despises all those who do what he himself is not ashamed to do. "

And Sylvia, looking across at her, said to herself with a heavy sigh thatthis was true. Madame Wachner had summed up Count Paul very accurately. 

At last there came the sound of a carriage in the quiet lane outside. 

"Fritz! Go and see if that is the carriage I ordered to come here at nineo'clock, " said his wife sharply; and then, as he got up silently to obeyher, she followed him out into the passage, and Sylvia, who had veryquick ears, heard her say, in low, vehement tones, "I work and work andwork, but you do nothing! Do try and help me--it is for your sake I amtaking all this trouble!"

What could these odd words mean? At what was Madame Wachner working?

A sudden feeling of discomfort came over Sylvia. Then the stout, jolly-looking woman was not without private anxieties and cares? Therehad been something so weary as well as so angry in the tone in whichMadame Wachner spoke to her beloved "Ami Fritz. "

A moment later he was hurrying towards the gate. 

"Sophie, " he cried out from the garden, "the carriage is here! Comealong--we have wasted too much time already--"

Like Anna Wolsky, Monsieur Wachner grudged every moment spent away fromthe tables. 

Madame Wachner hurried her two guests into her bed-room to put on theirhats. 

Anna Wolsky walked over to the window. 

"What a strange, lonely place to live in!" she said, and drew the laceshawl she was wearing a little more closely about her thin shoulders. "And that wood over there--I should be afraid to live so near a wood!I should think that there might be queer people concealed there. "

"Bah! Why should we be frightened, even if there were queer peoplethere!"

"Well, but sometimes you must have a good deal of money in this house. "

Madame Wachner laughed. 

"When we have so much money that we cannot carry it about, and that, alas! is not very often--but still, when Fritz makes a big win, we gointo Paris and bank the money. "

"I do not trouble to do that, " said Anna, "for I always carry all mymoney about with me. What do you do?" she turned to Sylvia Bailey. 

"I leave it in my trunk at the hotel, " said Sylvia. "The servants at theVilla du Lac seem to be perfectly honest--in fact they are mostly relatedto the proprietor, M. Polperro. "

"Oh, but that is quite wrong!" exclaimed Madame Wachner, eagerly. "Youshould never leave your money in the hotel; you should always carry itabout with you--in little bags like this. See!"

Again she suddenly lifted the light alpaca skirt she was wearing, as shehad done before, in this very room, on the occasion of Sylvia's firstvisit to the Châlet. "That is the way to carry money in a place likethis!" she said, smiling. "But now hurry, or all our evening will begone!"

They left the house, and hastened down the garden to the gate, whereL'Ami Fritz received his wife with a grumbling complaint that they hadbeen so long. 

And he was right, for the Casino was very full. Sylvia made no attemptto play. Somehow she did not care for the Club when Count Paul was notthere. 

She was glad when she was at last able to leave the others for the Villadu Lac. 

Anna Wolsky accompanied her friend to the entrance of the Casino. TheComte de Virieu was just coming in as Sylvia went out; bowing distantlyto the two ladies, he hurried through the vestibule towards the Club. 

Sylvia's heart sank. Not even after spending a day with his belovedsister could he resist the lure of play!

CHAPTER XI

During much of the night that followed Sylvia lay awake, her mind full ofthe Comte de Virieu, and of the strange friendship which had sprung upbetween them. 

Their brief meeting at the door of the Casino had affected her verypainfully. As he had passed her with a distant bow, a look of shame, ofmiserable unease, had come over Count Paul's face. 

Yes, Madame Wachner had summed him up very shrewdly, if unkindly. He wasashamed, not only of the way in which he was wasting his life, but alsoof the company into which his indulgence of his vice of gambling broughthim. 

And Sylvia--it was a bitter thought--was of that company. That fact mustbe faced by her. True, she was not a gambler in the sense that most ofthe people she met and saw daily at the Casino were gamblers, but thatwas simply because the passion of play did not absorb her as it did them. It was her good fortune, not any virtue in herself, that set her apartfrom Anna Wolsky. 

And now she asked herself--or rather her conscience asked her--whethershe would not do well to leave Lacville; to break off this strangeand--yes, this dangerous intimacy with a man of whom she knew so verylittle, apart from the great outstanding fact that he was a confirmedgambler, and that he had given up all that makes life worth living tosuch a man as he, in order to drag on a dishonoured, purposeless life atone or other of the great gambling centres of the civilised world?

And yet the thought of going away from Lacville was already intolerableto Sylvia. There had arisen between the Frenchman and herself a kind ofclose, wordless understanding and sympathy which she, at any rate, stillcalled "friendship. " But she would probably have assented to Meredith'swords, "Friendship, I fancy, means one heart between two. "

At last she fell into a troubled sleep, and dreamt a disturbing dream. 

She found herself wandering about the Châlet des Muguets, trying to finda way out of the locked and shuttered building. The ugly little roomswere empty. It was winter, and she was shivering with cold. Someone musthave locked her in by mistake. She had been forgotten. .. . 

"Toc, toc, toc!" at the door. And Sylvia sat up in bed relieved of hernightmare. It was eight o'clock! She had overslept herself. Félicie wasbringing in her tea, and on the tray lay a letter addressed in ahandwriting Sylvia did not know, and on which was a French stamp. 

She turned the pale-grey envelope over doubtfully, wondering if it wasreally meant for her. But yes--of that there could be no doubt, for itwas addressed, "Madame Bailey, Villa du Lac, Lacville-les-Bains. "

She opened it to find that the note contained a gracefully-wordedinvitation to déjeuner for the next day, and the signatureran--"Marie-Anne d'Eglemont. "

Why, it must be Paul de Virieu's sister! How very kind of her, and--andhow very kind of _him_. 

The letter must have been actually written when Count Paul was in Pariswith his sister--and yet, when they had passed one another the eveningbefore, he had bowed as distantly, as coldly, as he might have done tothe most casual of acquaintances. 

Sylvia got up, filled with a tumult of excited feeling which this simpleinvitation to luncheon scarcely warranted. 

But Paul de Virieu came in from his ride also eager, excited, smiling. 

"Have you received a note from my sister?" he asked, hurrying towards herin the dining-room which they now had to themselves each morning. "When Itold her how you and I had become"--he hesitated a moment, and then addedthe words, "good friends, she said how much she would like to meet you. Iknow that you and my dear Marie-Anne would like one another--"

"It is very kind of your sister to ask me to come and see her, " saidSylvia, a little stiffly. 

"I am going back to Paris this evening, " he went on, "to stay with mysister for a couple of nights. So if you can come to-morrow to lunch, asI think my sister has asked you to do, I will meet you at the station. "

After breakfast they went out into the garden, and when they were free ofthe house Count Paul said suddenly, "I told Marie-Anne that you were fond of riding, and, with yourpermission, she proposes to send over a horse for you every morning. And, Madame--forgive me--but I told her I feared you had no riding habit!You and she, however, are much the same height, and she thinks that shemight be able to lend you one if you will honour her by accepting theloan of it during the time you are at Lacville. "

Sylvia was bewildered, she scarcely knew how to accept so much kindness. 

"If you will write a line to my sister some time to-day, " continued theCount, "I will be the bearer of your letter. "

 * * * * *

That day marked a very great advance in the friendship of Sylvia Baileyand Paul de Virieu. 

Till that day, much as he had talked to her about himself and his life, and the many curious adventures he had had, for he had travelled a greatdeal, and was a cultivated man, he had very seldom spoken to her of hisrelations. 

But to-day he told her a great deal about them, and she found herselftaking a very keen, intimate interest in this group of French people whomshe had never seen--whom, perhaps, with one exception, she never wouldsee. 

How unlike English folk they must be--these relations of Count Paul! Forthe matter of that, how unlike any people Sylvia had ever seen or heardof. 

First, he told her of the sweet-natured, pious young duchess who was tobe her hostess on the morrow--the sister whom Paul loved so dearly, andto whom he owed so much. 

Then he described, in less kindly terms, her proud narrow-minded, ifgenerous, husband, the French duke who still lived--thanks to thefact that his grandmother had been the daughter of a great Russianbanker--much as must have lived the nobles in the Middle Ages--apart, that is, from everything that would remind him that there was anythingin the world of which he disapproved or which he disliked. 

The Duc d'Eglemont ignored the fact that France was a Republic; he stilltalked of "the King, " and went periodically into waiting on the Duke ofOrleans. 

Count Paul also told Sylvia of his great-uncle and godfather, theCardinal, who lived in Italy, and who had--or so his family liked tobelieve--so nearly become Pope. 

Then there were his three old maiden great-aunts, who had all desired tobe nuns, but who apparently had not had the courage to do so when it cameto the point. They dwelt together in a remote Burgundian château, andthey each spent an hour daily in their chapel praying that their dearnephew Paul might be rescued from the evils of play. 

And as Paul de Virieu told Sylvia Bailey of all these curious old-worldfolk of his, Sylvia wondered more and more why he led the kind ofexistence he was leading now. 

 * * * * *

For the first time since Sylvia had come to Lacville, neither she norCount Paul spent any part of that afternoon at the Casino. They were bothat that happy stage of--shall we say friendship?--when a man and a womancannot see too much of one another; when time is as if it were not; whennothing said or done can be wrong in the other's sight; when Love isstill a soft and an invisible presence, with naught about him of theexacting tyrant he will so soon become. 

Count Paul postponed his departure for Paris till after dinner, and nottill she went up to dress did Sylvia sit down to write her answer to theDuchesse d'Eglemont. 

For a long while she held her pen in her hand. How was she to addressPaul de Virieu's sister? Must she call her "Dear Madame"? Should she callher "Dear Duchesse"? It was really an unimportant matter, but it appearedvery important to Sylvia Bailey. She was exceedingly anxious not tocommit any social solecism. 

And then, while she was still hesitating, still sitting with the penpoised in her hand, there came a knock at the door. 

The maid handed her a note; it was from Count Paul, the first letter hehad ever written to her. 

"Madame, "--so ran the note--"it occurs to me that you might like toanswer my sister in French, and so I venture to send you the sort ofletter that you might perhaps care to write. Each country has its ownusages in these matters--that must be my excuse for my apparentimpertinence. "

And then there followed a prettily-turned little epistle which Sylviacopied, feeling perhaps a deeper gratitude than a far greater servicewould have won him from her. 

CHAPTER XII

A couple of hours later Sylvia and Count Paul parted at the door of theCasino. He held her hand longer than was usual with him when bidding hergood-night; then, dropping it, he lifted his hat and hurried off towardsthe station. 

Sylvia stood in the dusk and looked after him till a turn in the shortroad hid his hurrying figure from her sight. 

She felt very much moved, touched to the core of her heart. She knew justas well as if he had told her why the Comte de Virieu had given up hisevening's play to-night. He had left Lacville, and arranged to meet herin Paris the next day, in order that their names might not be coupled--aswould have certainly been the case if they had travelled together intoParis the next morning--by M. Polperro and the good-natured, but rathervulgar 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 Wolskyis making such a sensation! Come quick--quick!" and she hurried theunresisting Sylvia towards the Club rooms. "I come downstairs to see ifI could find you, " went on Madame Wachner breathlessly. 

What could be happening? Sylvia felt the other's excitement to becontagious. As she entered the gambling room she saw that a large crowdwas gathered round the centre Baccarat table. 

"A party of young men out from Paris, " explained Madame Wachner in a lowtone, "are throwing about their money. It might have been terrible. Butno, 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 acurious feeling of fear clutching at her heart, Sylvia Bailey saw thatAnna 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 goldlay in front of Madame Wolsky, and as was always the case when she wasreally excited, Anna's face had become very pale, and her eyes glistenedfeverishly. 

The play, too, was much higher than usual. This was owing to the factthat at one end of the table there stood a little group of five young menin evening dress. They talked and laughed as they flung their money onthe green cloth, and seemed to enjoy the fact that they were the centreof attraction. 

"One of them, " whispered Madame Wachner eagerly, "had already lost eightthousand francs when I went downstairs to look for you! See, they arestill losing. Our friend has the devil's own luck to-night! I haveforbidden L'Ami Fritz to play at all. Nothing can stand against her. Shesweeps the money up every time. If Fritz likes, he can go downstairs tothe lower room and play. "

But before doing so L'Ami Fritz lingered awhile, watching Madame Wolsky'swonderful run of luck with an expression of painful envy and greed on hiswolfish countenance. 

Sylvia went round to a point where she could watch Anna's face. To astranger Madame Wolsky might have appeared almost indifferent; but therehad come two spots of red on her cheeks, and the hand with which sheraked up the money trembled. 

The words rang out, "_Faites vos jeux, Messieurs, Mesdames. _" Then, "_Lejeu est fait! Rien ne va plus!_"

The luck suddenly turned against Anna. She looked up, and found Sylvia'seyes fixed on her. She made a slight motion, as if she wished her friendto go away. 

Sylvia slipped back, and walked quietly round the table. Then she stoodbehind Anna, and once more the luck came back, and the lady banker's pileof notes and gold grew higher and higher. .. . 

"This is the first time a woman has held the Bank this month, " Sylviaheard someone say. 

And then there came an answer, "Yes, and it is by far the best Bank wehave 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 andsaid 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 timelonger. "

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 Clubby Sylvia's side. 

Soon the table was as much surrounded as before, for Anna was againwinning. She had won as banker, now she won as simple player, and allthose about her began to "follow her luck" with excellent results tothemselves. 

The scene reminded Sylvia of that first evening at the Casino. It wasonly 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 andamusement she saw Madame Wachner actually risk a twenty-franc piece. Amoment later the stake was doubled, and soon the good lady had won ninegold 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 himdownstairs! 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, "forone knows it does not hurt him! That young man has a share in the profiton every piece of sugar sold in France, and you know how fond the Frenchare 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, " sheanswered indifferently. "As to what I shall do with it!--well, I supposeI shall have to go into Paris and bank some of it in a day or two. Ishan't play to-morrow. I shall take a rest--I deserve a rest!" She lookedextraordinarily 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--" shechuckled joyously. 

Madame Wachner left the two friends standing in the hall while she wentto look for her husband in the public gambling room, and as they stoodthere Sylvia became conscious that they were being stared at with a greatdeal of interest and curiosity. The news of Anna Wolsky's extraordinarygood luck had evidently spread. 

"I wish I had come in a little earlier, " said Sylvia presently. "I'venever seen you take the Bank before. Surely this is the first time youhave done so?"

"Yes, this is the first time I have ever been tempted to take the Bank atLacville. 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 MadameWachner 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 aremore with Madame Wachner than with me!"

She did not speak unkindly, but Sylvia felt a pang of remorse. She hadindeed seen very little of Anna Wolsky during the last few days, but thatwas not because she had been with Madame Wachner. 

"I will come and see you for a little while to-night, " she saidimpetuously, "for I am going to spend to-morrow in Paris--with a friendwho 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 thecarriage takes the Wachners on home, and then it can call for you on theway back. I should not like you to walk to the Villa du Lac alone at thistime 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 lookedquite moved out of himself. He seized Anna by the hand. "I congratulateyou!" he said heartily. "What a splendid thing to go on winning likethat. 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 solicitouslyinquired. "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 anyonebut to a well-managed bank, " exclaimed his wife, before Anna could answerthe question. "As for the hotel-keepers, I would not trust them with onepenny. What happened to a friend of ours, eh, Fritz, tell them that?"

They were now packed into an open carriage, and driving towards thePension 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 smallhouses in the Condamine at Monte Carlo, and who one day won a lot ofmoney. 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 waiterwho had disappeared. Our friend had no redress--none at all! Malfait maybe a very good sort of man, but I would not give him your money--" sheturned to Anna. 

"No, of course not, " said Madame Wolsky. "I should never think ofentrusting 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 oneloses it, one has only oneself to blame. "

"It is very exciting taking the Bank, " she added, after a pause. "I thinkI shall take the Bank again next time I play. "

The short drive was soon over, and as Anna and Sylvia were going into thePension Malfait, Madame Wachner called out, "Will you both come to supperto-morrow?"

Sylvia shook her head. 

"I am going into Paris for the day, " she said, "and I shall feel tiredwhen I get back. But many thanks, all the same. "

"Then _you_ must come"--Madame Wachner addressed Anna Wolsky. "We alsowill 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 hadcome back from the Châlet des Muguets, the two friends went up to AnnaWolsky's bed-room. 

Sylvia sat down by the open window. 

"You need not light a candle, Anna, " she said. "It's so pleasant justnow, so quiet and cool, and the light would only attract those horridmidges. They seem to me the only things I have to find fault with inLacville!"

Anna Wolsky came and sat down in the darkness close to the younger woman. 

"Sylvia, " she said, "dear little Sylvia! Sometimes I feel uneasy athaving brought you to Lacville. " She spoke in a thoughtful and veryserious tone. 

"Indeed, you need feel nothing of the kind. "

Sylvia Bailey put out her hand and took the other woman's hand in herown. She knew in her heart what Anna meant, but she wilfully pretended tomisunderstand her. 

"You need never think that I run the slightest risk of becoming agambler, " she went on, a little breathlessly. "I was looking at myaccount-book to-day, and I find that since I have been here I have lostseventy francs. Two days ago I had won a hundred and ten francs. So yousee it is not a very serious matter, is it? Just think of all the funI've had! It's well worth the money I've lost. Besides, I shall probablywin 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'saffectionate clasp. 

"I'm afraid that you are becoming very fond of the Comte de Virieu, " wenton 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 consequencesof this friendship of yours? I confess that at the beginning I creditedthat man with the worst of motives, but now I feel afraid that he is inlove--in fact I feel sure that he is madly in love with you. Do you knowthat he never takes his eyes off you in the Club? Often he forgets topick up his winnings. .. . "

Sylvia's heart began to beat. She wondered if Anna was indeed tellingthe truth. She almost bent forward and kissed her friend in hergratitude--but all she said was, and that defiantly, "You can believe me when I say that he has never said a word of love tome. He has never even flirted with me. I give you my word that that isso!"

"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. AFrenchman either loves--and when he loves he adores on his knees--orelse he has no use, no use at all, for what English people mean byflirtation--the make-believe of love! I should feel much more atease 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: "Ofcourse, I do not regard him with trust or with liking. How could I? Onthe other hand, I do not go as far as the Wachners; they, it is quiteclear, evidently know something very much to the Count's discredit. "

"I don't believe they do!" cried Sylvia, hotly. "It is mere prejudiceon their part! He does not like them, and they know it. He thinks themvulgar sort of people, and he suspects that Monsieur Wachner isGerman--that is quite enough for him. "

"But, after all, it does not really matter what the Wachners think of theComte de Virieu, or what he thinks of them, " said Anna. "What matters iswhat _you_ think of him, and what _he_ thinks of you. "

Sylvia was glad that the darkness hid her deep, burning blushes from AnnaWolsky. 

"You do not realise, " said the Polish lady, gravely, "what your lifewould be if you were married to a man whose only interest in life isplay. 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. Heis certainly very fond of his wife, and she is very fond of him. Butwould 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 isabsurd of me to think it possible that you would dream of marrying theComte de Virieu! No, no, my dear child, this poor Frenchman is one ofthose men who, even if personally charming, no wise woman would think ofmarrying. He is absolutely ruined. I do not suppose he has a penny leftof his own in the world. He would not have the money to buy you a weddingring. You would have to provide even that! It would be madness--absolutemadness!"

"I do not think, " said Sylvia, in a low tone, "that there is theslightest likelihood of my ever marrying the Comte de Virieu. You forgetthat I have known him only a short time, and that he has never said aword 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 agreat deal less, " said Anna, "and the time that he would have spent atthe 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 farbetter that he should spend his time talking to me about ordinary thingsthan 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 spokeimpatiently--"but is it best for you? That is what I ask myself. You havenot 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 bevery angry with her friend for speaking thus plainly to her, and yet shecould not be angry. Anna spoke so tenderly, so kindly, so delicately. 

"Shall we go away from Lacville?" asked Madame Wolsky, suddenly. "Thereare a hundred places where you and I could go together. Let us leaveLacville! I am sure you feel just as I do--I am sure you realise thatthe 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 meetto-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 wasnot there to-night. He has gone into Paris so as not to compromise you atLacville. That is the sort of gallantry that means so little! As ifLacville matters--but tell me this, Sylvia? Has he ever spoken to youas 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 questionunanswered. 

Madame Wolsky, though generally so undemonstrative, took Sylvia in herarms and kissed her. 

"God bless you, my dear little friend!" she whispered, "and forgive allI have said to you to-night! Still, think the matter over. I have liveda great deal of my life in this country. I am almost a Frenchwoman. It isno use marrying a Frenchman unless his family marry you too--and Iunderstand that the Comte de Virieu's family have cast him off. "

Sylvia got into the carriage and looked back, her eyes blinded withtears. 

Anna Wolsky stood in the doorway of the Pension, her tall, thin figure insharp 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 whateverhappened she would always remain faithful to her affection for AnnaWolsky. 

CHAPTER XIII

The next morning found Paul de Virieu walking up and down platform No. 9of the Gare du Nord, waiting for Mrs. Bailey's train, which was due toarrive from Lacville at eleven o'clock. 

Though he looked as if he hadn't a care in the world save the pleasantcare of enjoying the present and looking forward to the future, life wasvery grey just now to the young Frenchman. 

To a Parisian, Paris in hot weather is a depressing place, even under thepleasantest of circumstances, and the Count felt an alien and an outcastin the city where he had spent much of his careless and happy youth. 

His sister, the Duchesse d'Eglemont, who had journeyed all the way fromBrittany to see him for two or three days, had received him with thattouch of painful affection which the kindly and the prosperous so oftenbestow on those whom they feel to be at once beloved and prodigal. 

When with his dear Marie-Anne, Paul de Virieu always felt as though hehad been condemned to be guillotined, and as if she were doing everythingto make his last days on earth as pleasant as possible. 

When he had proposed that his sister should ask his new friend, thisEnglish widow he had met at Lacville, to luncheon--nay more, when he hadasked Marie-Anne to lend Mrs. Bailey a riding habit, and to arrange thatone of the Duc's horses should come over every morning in order that heand Mrs. Bailey might ride together--the kind Duchesse had at onceassented, almost too eagerly, to his requests. And she had asked herbrother no tiresome, indiscreet questions as to his relations with theyoung Englishwoman, --whether, for instance, he was really fond of Sylvia, whether it was conceivably possible that he was thinking of marrying her?

And, truth to tell, Paul de Virieu would have found it very difficult togive an honest answer to the question. He was in a strange, debatablestate of mind about Sylvia--beautiful, simple, unsophisticated SylviaBailey. 

He told himself, and that very often, that the young Englishwoman, withher absurd, touching lack of worldly knowledge, had no business to beliving in such a place as Lacville, wasting her money at the Baccarattables, and knowing such queer people as were--well, yes, even AnnaWolsky was queer--Madame Wolsky and the Wachners!

But if Sylvia Bailey had no business to be at Lacville, he, Paul deVirieu, had no business to be flirting with her as he was doing--forthough Sylvia was honestly unaware of the fact, the Count was carryingon what he well knew to be a very agreeable flirtation with the lady hecalled in his own mind his "_petite amie Anglaise_, " and very much hewas enjoying the experience--when his conscience allowed him to enjoy it. 

Till the last few weeks Paul de Virieu had supposed himself to have cometo that time of life when a man can no longer feel the delicious tremorsof love. Now no man, least of all a Frenchman, likes to feel that thistime has come, and it was inexpressibly delightful to him to know thathe had been mistaken--that he could still enjoy the most absorbing andenchanting sensation vouchsafed to poor humanity. 

He was in love! In love for the first time for many years, and with asweet, happy-natured woman, who became more intimately dear to him everymoment that went by. Indeed, he knew that the real reason why he had feltso depressed last night and even this morning was because he was partedfrom Sylvia. 

But where was it all to end? True, he had told Mrs. Bailey the truthabout himself very early in their acquaintance--in fact, amazingly soon, and he had been prompted to do so by a feeling which defied analysis. 

But still, did Sylvia, even now, realise what that truth was? Did she inthe least understand what it meant for a man to be bound and gagged, ashe was bound and gagged, lashed to the chariot of the Goddess of Chance?No, of course she did not realise it--how could such a woman as wasSylvia Bailey possibly do so?

Walking up and down the long platform, chewing the cud of bitterreflection, Paul de Virieu told himself that the part of an honest man, to say nothing of that of an honourable gentleman, would be to leaveLacville before matters had gone any further between them. Yes, thatwas what he was bound to do by every code of honour. 

And then, just as he had taken the heroic resolution of going back toBrittany with his sister, as Marie-Anne had begged him to do only thatmorning, the Lacville train steamed into the station--and with the sightof Sylvia's lovely face all his good resolutions flew to the winds. 

She stepped down from the high railway carriage, and looked round herwith a rather bewildered air, for a crowd of people were surging roundher, and she had not yet caught sight of Count Paul. 

Wearing a pinkish mauve cotton gown and a large black tulle hat, Sylvialooked enchantingly pretty. And if the Count's critical French eyesobjected to the alliance of a cotton gown and tulle hat, and to thewearing of a string of large pearls in the morning, he was in the stateof mind when a man of fastidious taste forgives even a lack of taste inthe woman to whom he is acting as guide, philosopher, and friend. 

He told himself that Sylvia Bailey could not be left alone in a placelike Lacville, and that it was his positive duty to stay on there andlook after her. .. . 

Suddenly their eyes met. Sylvia blushed--Heavens! how adorable she lookedwhen there came that vivid rose-red blush over her rounded cheeks. Andshe was adorable in a simple, unsophisticated way, which appealed to Paulde Virieu as nothing in woman had ever appealed to him before. 

He could not help enjoying the thought of how surprised his sister wouldbe. Marie-Anne had doubtless pictured Mrs. Bailey as belonging to therather hard, self-assertive type of young Englishwoman of whom Paris seesa great deal. But Sylvia looked girlishly simple, timid, and confiding. 

As he greeted her, Paul de Virieu's manner was serious, almost solemn. But none the less, while they walked side by side in a quiet, leisurelyfashion through the great grey station, Sylvia felt as if she had indeedpassed through the shining portals of fairyland. 

In the covered courtyard stood the Duchesse's carriage. Count Paulmotioned the footman aside and stood bareheaded while Sylvia took herplace in the victoria. As he sat down by her side he suddenly observed, "My brother-in-law does not like motor-cars, " and Sylvia felt secret, shame-faced gratitude to the Duc d'Eglemont, for, thanks to this prejudiceof his, the moments now being spent by her alone with Count Paul weretrebled. 

As the carriage drove with swift, gondola-like motion through the hotstreets, Sylvia felt more than ever as if she were in a new, enchantedcountry--that dear country called Romance, and, as if to prolong theillusion, the Count began to talk what seemed to her the language ofthat country. 

"Every Frenchman, " he exclaimed, abruptly, "is in love with love, andwhen you hear--as you may do sometimes, Madame--that a Frenchman israrely in love with his own wife, pray answer that this is quite untrue!For it often happens that in his wife a Frenchman discovers the love hehas sought elsewhere in vain. "

He looked straight before him as he added: "As for marriage--well, marriage is in my country regarded as a very serious matter indeed! NoFrenchman goes into marriage as light-heartedly as does the averageEnglishman, and as have done, for instance, so many of my own Englishschoolfellows. No, to a Frenchman his marriage means everything ornothing, and if he loved a woman it would appear to him a dastardlyaction to ask her to share his life if he did not believe that life to bewhat would be likely to satisfy her, to bring her honour and happiness. "

Sylvia turned to him, and, rather marvelling at her own temerity, sheasked a fateful question:

"But would love ever make the kind of Frenchman you describe give up away of life that was likely to make his wife unhappy?"

Count Paul looked straight into the blue eyes which told him so much morethan their owner knew they told. 

"Yes! He might easily give up that life for the sake of a beloved woman. But would he remain always faithful in his renunciation? That is thequestion which none, least of all himself, can answer!"

The victoria was now crossing one of the bridges which are, perhaps, thenoblest possession of outdoor Paris. 

Count Paul changed the subject. He had seen with mingled pain and joy howmuch his last honest words had troubled her. 

"My brother-in-law has never cared to move west, as so many of hisfriends have done, " he observed. "He prefers to remain in the old familyhouse that was built by his great-grandfather before the FrenchRevolution. "

Soon they were bowling along a quiet, sunny street, edged with high wallsoverhung with trees. The street bore the name of Babylon. 

And indeed there was something almost Babylonian, something very splendidin the vast courtyard which formed the centre of what appeared, toSylvia's fascinated eyes, a grey stone palace. The long rows of high, narrow windows which now encompassed her were all closed, but with theclatter of the horses' hoofs on the huge paving-stones the great housestirred into life. 

The carriage drew up. Count Paul jumped out and gave Sylvia his hand. Huge iron doors, that looked as if they could shut out an invading army, were flung open, and after a moment's pause, Paul de Virieu led SylviaBailey across the threshold of the historic Hôtel d'Eglemont. 

She had never seen, she had never imagined, such pomp, such solemn state, as that which greeted her, and there came across her a childish wish thatAnna Wolsky and the Wachners could witness the scene--the hall hung withtapestries given to an ancestor of the Duc d'Eglemont by Louis theFourteenth, the line of powdered footmen, and the solemn major-domo whoushered them up the wide staircase, at the head of which there stooda slender, white-clad young woman, with a sweet, eager face. 

This was the first time Sylvia Bailey had met a duchess, and she wasperhaps a little surprised to see how very unpretentious a duchess couldbe!

Marie-Anne d'Eglemont spoke in a low, almost timid voice, her Englishbeing far less good than her brother's, and yet how truly kind andhighly-bred she at once showed herself, putting Sylvia at her ease, andappearing to think there was nothing at all unusual in Mrs. Bailey'sfriendship with Paul de Virieu!

And then, after they had lunched in an octagon room of which each panelhad been painted by Van Loo, and which opened on a garden where the greenglades and high trees looked as if they must be far from a great city, there suddenly glided in a tiny old lady, dressed in a sweeping blackgown and little frilled lace cap. 

Count Paul bowing low before her, kissed her waxen-looking right hand. 

"My dear godmother, let me present to you Mrs. Bailey, " and Sylvia feltherself being closely, rather pitilessly, inspected by shrewd though notunkindly eyes--eyes sunken, dimmed by age, yet seeing more, perhaps, thanyounger eyes would have seen. 

The old Marquise beckoned to Count Paul, and together they slowly walkedthrough into the garden and paced away down a shaded alley. For the firsttime Sylvia and Marie-Anne d'Eglemont were alone together. 

"I wish to thank you for your kindness to my poor Paul, " the Duchessespoke in a low, hesitating voice. "You have so much influence over him, Madame. "

Sylvia shook her head. 

"Ah! But yes, you have!" She looked imploringly at Sylvia. "You know whatI mean? You know what I would ask you to do? My husband could give Paulwork in the country, work he would love, for he adores horses, if only hecould be rescued from this terrible infatuation, this passion for play. "

She stopped abruptly, for the Count and his little, fairy-like godmotherhad turned round, and were now coming towards them. 

Sylvia rose instinctively to her feet, for the tiny Marquise was veryimposing. 

"Sit down, Madame, " she said imperiously, and Sylvia meekly obeyed. 

The old lady fixed her eyes with an appraising gaze on her godson'sEnglish friend. 

"Permit me to embrace you, " she exclaimed suddenly. "You are a verypretty creature! And though no doubt young lips often tell you this, thecompliments of the old have the merit of being quite sincere!"

She bent down, and Sylvia, to her confusion and surprise, felt her cheekslightly kissed by the withered lips of Paul de Virieu's godmother. 

"Madame Bailey's rouge is natural; it does not come off!" the old ladyexclaimed, and a smile crept over her parchment-coloured face. "Not butwhat a great deal of nonsense is talked about the usage of rouge, mydear children! There is no harm in supplementing the niggardly gifts ofnature. You, for instance, Marie-Anne, would look all the better for alittle rouge!" She spoke in a high, quavering voice. 

The Duchesse smiled. Her brother had always been the old Marquise'sfavourite. 

"But I should feel so ashamed if it came off, " she said lightly; "if, forinstance, I felt one of my cheeks growing pale while the other remainedbright red?"

"That would never happen if you used what I have often told you isthe only rouge a lady should use, that is, the sap of the geraniumblossom--that gives an absolutely natural tint to the skin, and my owndear mother always used it. You remember how Louis XVIII. Complimentedher on her beautiful complexion at the first Royal ball held after theRestoration? Well, the Sovereign's gracious words were entirely owing tothe geranium blossom!"

CHAPTER XIV

The day after her memorable expedition to Paris opened pleasantly forSylvia Bailey, though it was odd how dull and lifeless the Villa du Lacseemed to be without Count Paul. 

But he would be back to-morrow, and in the morning of the next day theywere to begin riding together. 

Again and again she went over in retrospect every moment of the two hoursshe had spent in that great house in the Faubourg St. Germain. 

How kind these two ladies had been to her, Paul's gentle sister and hisstately little fairy-like godmother! But the Duchesse's manner had beenvery formal, almost solemn; and as for the other--Sylvia could still feelthe dim, yet terribly searching, eyes fixed on her face, and she wonderednervously what sort of effect she had produced on the old Marquise. 

Meanwhile, she felt that now was the time to see something of AnnaWolsky. The long afternoon and evening stretching before her seemedlikely to be very dull, and so she wrote a little note and asked Anna ifshe would care for a long expedition in the Forest of Montmorency. It wasthe sort of thing Anna always said bored her, but as she was not going tothe Casino a drive would surely be better than doing nothing. 

 * * * * *

And now Sylvia, sitting idly by her bed-room window, was awaiting Anna'sanswer to her note. She had sent it, just before she went down toluncheon, by a commissionaire, to the Pension Malfait, and the answerought to have come ere now. 

After their drive she and Anna might call on the Wachners and offer totake them to the Casino; and with the thought of the Wachners there cameover Sylvia a regret that the Comte de Virieu was so fastidious. Heseemed to detest the Wachners! When he met them at the Casino, the mosthe would do was to incline his head coldly towards them. Who could wonderthat Madame Wachner spoke so disagreeably of him?

Sylvia Bailey's nature was very loyal, and now she reminded herself thatthis couple, for whom Count Paul seemed to have an instinctive dislike, were good-natured and kindly. She must ever remember gratefully howhelpful Madame Wachner had been during the first few days she and Annahad been at Lacville, in showing them the little ways about the place, and in explaining to them all sorts of things about the Casino. 

And how kindly the Wachners had pressed Anna yesterday to have supperwith them during Sylvia's absence in Paris!

 * * * * *

There came a knock at the door, and Sylvia jumped up from her chair. Nodoubt this was Anna herself in response to the note. 

"Come in, " she cried out, in English. 

There was a pause, and another knock. Then it was not Anna?

"_Entrez!_"

The commissionaire by whom Sylvia had sent her note to Madame Wolskywalked into the room. To her great surprise he handed her back her ownletter to her friend. The envelope had been opened, and together with herletter was a sheet of common notepaper, across which was scrawled, inpencil, the words, "_Madame Wolsky est partie_. "

Sylvia looked up. "_Partie?_" The word puzzled her. Surely it should havebeen "_Sortie. _" Perhaps Anna had gone to Paris for the day to bank herlarge winnings. "Then the lady was out?" she said to the man. 

"The lady has left the Pension Malfait, " he said, briefly. "She has goneaway. "

"There must be some mistake!" Sylvia exclaimed, in French. "My friendwould never have left Lacville without telling me. "

The commissionaire went on: "But I have brought back a motor-cab asMadame directed me to do. "

She paid him, and went downstairs hurriedly. What an extraordinarymistake! It was out of the question that Anna should have left Lacvillewithout telling her; but as the motor was there she might as well driveto the Pension Malfait and find out the meaning of the curt message, andalso why her own letter to Anna had been opened. 

If Anna had gone into Paris for the day, the only thing to do was to gofor a drive alone. The prospect was not exhilarating, but it would bebetter than staying indoors, or even in the garden by herself, allafternoon. 

Sylvia felt rather troubled and uncomfortable as she got into the openmotor. Somehow she had counted on seeing Anna to-day. She remembered herfriend's last words to her. They had been kind, tender words, and thoughAnna did not approve of Sylvia's friendship for Paul de Virieu, she hadspoken in a very understanding, sympathetic way, almost as a lovingmother might have spoken. 

It was odd of Anna not to have left word she was going to Paris for theday. In any case, the Wachners would know when Anna would be back. It waswith them that she had had supper yesterday evening--. 

While these thoughts were passing disconnectedly through Sylvia's mind, she suddenly saw the substantial figure of Madame Wachner walking slowlyalong the sanded path by the side of the road. 

"Madame Wachner! Madame Wachner!" she cried out eagerly, and the car drewup with a jerk. 

That citizeness of the world, as she had called herself, stepped downfrom the kerb. She looked hot and tired. It was a most unusual time forMadame Wachner to be out walking, and by herself, in Lacville. 

But Sylvia was thinking too much about Anna Wolsky to trouble aboutanything else. 

"Have you heard that Anna Wolsky is away for the day?" she exclaimed. "Ihave received such a mysterious message from the Pension Malfait! Do comewith me there and find out where she has gone and when she is comingback. Did she say anything about going into Paris when she had supperwith you last night?"

With a smile and many voluble thanks Madame Wachner climbed up into theopen car, and sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. 

She was very stout, though still so vigorous, and her shrewd, determinedface now turned smilingly to the pretty, anxious-eyed Englishwoman. Butshe waited a few moments before answering Sylvia's eager questions. Then, "I cannot tell you, " she said slowly and in French, "what has happened toMadame Wolsky--"

"What has happened to her!" cried Sylvia. "What do you mean, MadameWachner?"

"Oh, of course, nothing 'as 'appened. " Madame Wachner dropped soothinglyinto English. "All I mean is that Madame Wolsky did not come to usyesterday evening. We stayed in on purpose, but, as English people sayso funnily, she never turn up!"

"But she was coming to tea as well as to supper!"

"Yes, we waited for 'er a long time, and I 'ad got such a beautifullittle supper! But, alas! she did not come--no, not at all. "

"How odd of her! Perhaps she got a telegram which contained bad news--"

"Yes, " said Madame Wachner eagerly, "no doubt. For this morning when I goto the Pension Malfait, I 'ear that she 'as gone away! It was for that Iwas 'urrying to the Villa du Lac to see if you knew anything, dearfriend. "

"Gone away?" repeated Sylvia, bewildered. "But it is inconceivable thatAnna could have left Lacville without telling me--or, for the matter ofthat, without telling you, too--"

"She 'as taken what you in England call 'French leave, '" said MadameWachner drily. "It was not very considerate of 'er. She might 'ave sentus word last night. We would not then 'ave waited to 'ave our nicesupper. "

"She can't have gone away without telling me, " repeated Sylvia. She wasstaring straight into her companion's red face: Madame Wachner stilllooked very hot and breathless. "I am sure she would never have done sucha thing. Why should she?"

The older woman shrugged her shoulders. 

"I expect she will come back soon, " she said consolingly. "She 'as lefther luggage at the Pension Malfait, and that, after all, does not look asif she 'as gone for evare!"

"Left her luggage?" cried Sylvia, in a relieved tone. "Why, then, of course, she is coming back! I expect she has gone to Paris for anight in order to see friends passing through. How could the PensionMalfait people think she had gone--I mean for good? You know, MadameWachner"--she lowered her voice, for she did not wish the driver to hearwhat she was about to say--"you know that Anna won a very large sum ofmoney two nights ago. "

Sylvia Bailey was aware that people had been robbed and roughly handled, even in idyllic Lacville, when leaving the Casino after an especialstroke of luck at the tables. 

"I do hope nothing has happened to her!"

"'Appened to 'er? What do you mean?" Madame Wachner spoke quite crossly. "Who ever thought of such a thing!" And she fanned herself vigorouslywith a paper fan she held in her left hand. "As to her winnings--yes, she won a lot of money the night she took the bank. But, remember thatshe 'as 'ad plenty of time yesterday to lose it all again--ah, yes!"

"But she meant to give up play till Monday, " said Sylvia, eagerly. "Ifeel sure she never went inside the Casino yesterday. "

"Oh, but she did. My 'usband saw her there. "

"At what time?" asked Sylvia, eagerly. 

"Let me see--"

"Of course, it must have been early, as you were back waiting for herlate in the afternoon. "

"Yes, it must have been early. And once in the Casino!--well, dearfriend, you know as well as I do that with Madame Wolsky the money flies!Still, let us suppose she did not lose 'er money yesterday. In that casesurely Madame Wolsky would 'ave done well to leave Lacville with 'ergains in 'er pocket-book. "

Madame Wachner was leaning back in the car, a ruminating smile on herbroad, good-tempered face. 

She was thoroughly enjoying the rush through the air. It was very hot, and she disliked walking. Her morose husband very seldom allowed her totake a cab. He generally forced her to walk to the Casino and back. 

Something of a philosopher was Madame Wachner, always accepting witheager, out-stretched hands that with which the gods provided her. 

And all at once pretty Sylvia Bailey, though unobservant as happy, prosperous youth so often is, conceived the impression that her companiondid not at all wish to discuss Anna's sudden departure. Madame Wachnerhad evidently been very much annoyed by Anna's lack of civility, andsurely the least Anna could have done would have been to send a messagesaying that it was impossible for her to come to supper at the Châlet desMuguets!

"I am quite sure Anna did not mean to be rude, dear Madame Wachner, " saidSylvia, earnestly. "You know she may have sent you a letter or a messagewhich miscarried. They are rather careless people at the PensionMalfait. "

"Yes, of course, that is always possible, " said the other rather coldly. 

And then, as they came within sight of the Pension Malfait, MadameWachner suddenly placed her large, powerful, bare hand on Sylvia's smallgloved one. 

"Look 'ere, my dear, " she said, familiarly, "do not worry about MadameWolsky. Believe me, she is not worth it. "

Sylvia looked at her amazed, and then Madame Wachner broke into French:"She thought of nothing but play--that is the truth! Play, play, play!Other times she was half asleep!"

She waited a moment, then slowly, and in English, she said, "I believe inmy 'eart that she 'as gone off to Aix. The play 'ere was not big enoughfor 'er. And remember that you 'ave good friends still left in Lacville. I do not only speak of me and of my 'usband, but also of another one. "

She laughed, if good-naturedly, then a little maliciously. 

But Sylvia gave no answering smile. She told herself that Madame Wachner, though kindly, was certainly rather vulgar, not to say coarse. And herwords about Madame Wolsky were really unkind. Anna was not such a gambleras was Fritz Wachner. 

They were now at the gate of the boarding house. 

"We will, at any rate, go in and find out when Anna left, and if she saidwhere she was going, " said Sylvia. 

"If you do not mind, " observed Madame Wachner, "I will remain out here, in the car. They have already seen me this morning at the PensionMalfait. They must be quite tired of seeing me. "

Sylvia felt rather disappointed. She would have liked the support ofMadame Wachner's cheerful presence when making her inquiries, for she wasaware that the proprietors of Anna's pension--M. And Madame Malfait--hadbeen very much annoyed that she, Sylvia, had not joined her friend there. 

Madame Malfait was sitting in her usual place--that is, in a little glasscage in the hall--and when she saw Mrs. Bailey coming towards her, a lookof impatience, almost of dislike, crossed her thin, shrewd face. 

"Bon jour, Madame!" she said curtly. "I suppose you also have come to askme about Madame Wolsky? But I think you must have heard all there is tohear from the lady whom I see out there in the car. I can tell younothing more than I have already told her. Madame Wolsky has treated uswith great want of consideration. She did not come home last evening. Poor Malfait waited up all night, wondering what could be the matter. Andthen, this morning, we found a letter in her room saying she had goneaway!"

"A letter in her room?" exclaimed Sylvia. "Madame Wachner did not tell methat my friend had left a letter--"

But Madame Malfait went on angrily:

"Madame Wolsky need not have troubled to write! A word of explanationwould have been better, and would have prevented my husband sitting uptill five o'clock this morning. We quite feared something must havehappened to her. But we have a great dislike to any affair with thepolice, and so we thought we would wait before telling them of herdisappearance, and it is indeed fortunate that we did so!"

"Will you kindly show me the letter she left for you?" said Sylvia. 

Without speaking, Madame Malfait bent down over her table, and then heldout a piece of notepaper on which were written the words:

 Madame Malfait, --

 Being unexpectedly obliged to leave Lacville, I enclose herewith 200 francs. Please pay what is owing to you out of it, and distribute the rest among the servants. I will send you word where to forward my luggage in a day or two. 

Sylvia stared reflectively at the open letter. 

Anna had not even signed her name. The few lines were very clear, writtenin a large, decided handwriting, considerably larger, or so it seemed toSylvia, than what she had thought Anna's ordinary hand to be. But thenthe Englishwoman had not had the opportunity of seeing much of her Polishfriend's caligraphy. 

Before she had quite finished reading the mysterious letter over a secondtime, Madame Malfait took it out of her hand. 

But Sylvia Bailey was entirely unused to being snubbed--pretty youngwomen provided with plenty of money seldom are snubbed--and so she didnot turn away and leave the hall, as Madame Malfait hoped she would do. 

"What a strange thing!" she observed, in a troubled tone. "Howextraordinary it is that my friend should have gone away like this, leaving her luggage behind her! What can possibly have made her want toleave Lacville in such a hurry? She was actually engaged to have dinnerwith our friends, Monsieur and Madame Wachner. Did she not send them anysort of message, Madame Malfait? I wish you would try and remember whatshe said when she went out. "

The Frenchwoman looked at her with a curious stare. 

"If you ask me to tell you the truth, Madame, " she replied, ratherinsolently, "I have no doubt at all that your friend went to the Casinoyesterday and lost a great deal of money--that she became, in fact, _décavée_. "

Then, feeling ashamed, both of her rudeness and of her frankness, sheadded:

"But Madame Wolsky is a very honest lady, that I will say for her. Yousee, she left enough money to pay for everything, as well as to providemy servants with handsome gratuities. That is more than the last personwho left the Pension Malfait in a hurry troubled to do!"

"But is it not extraordinary that she left her luggage, and that she didnot even tell you where she was going?" repeated Sylvia in a worried, dissatisfied tone. 

"Pardon me, Madame, that is not strange at all! Madame Wolsky probablywent off to Paris without knowing exactly where she meant to stay, and noone wants to take luggage with them when they are looking round for anhotel. I am expecting at any moment to receive a telegram telling mewhere to send the luggage. You, Madame, if you permit me to say so, havenot had my experience--my experience, I mean, in the matter of ladies whoplay at the Lacville Casino. "

There was still a tone of covert insolence in her voice, and she went on, "True, Madame Wolsky has not behaved as badly as she might have done. Still, you must admit that it is rather inconsiderate of her, afterengaging the room for the whole of the month of August, to go off likethis!"

Madame Malfait felt thoroughly incensed, and did not trouble to concealthe fact. But as Mrs. Bailey at last began walking towards the frontdoor, the landlady of the pension hurried after her. 

"Madame will not say too much about her friend's departure, will she?"she said more graciously. "I do not want any embarrassments with thepolice. Everything is quite _en règle_, is it not? After all, MadameWolsky had a right to go away without telling anyone of her plans, hadshe not, Madame?"

Sylvia turned round. "Certainly, she had an entire right to do so, " sheanswered coldly. "But, still, I should be much obliged if you will sendme word when you receive the telegram you are expecting her to send youabout the luggage. "

 * * * * *

"Well?" cried Madame Wachner eagerly, as Sylvia silently got into themotor again. "Have you learnt anything? Have they not had news of ourfriend?"

"They have heard nothing since they found that odd letter of hers, " saidSylvia. "You never told me about the letter, Madame Wachner?"

"Ah, that letter! I saw it, too. But it said nothing, absolutelynothing!" exclaimed Madame Wachner. 

And Sylvia suddenly realised that in truth Anna's letter did say nothing. 

"I should have thought they would have had a telegram to-day about theluggage. "

"So would I, " said Sylvia. And then musingly, "I should never, never haveexpected Anna Wolsky to go off like that. So--so mysteriously--"

"Well, there, I quite disagree with you! It is just what I should haveexpected her to do!" exclaimed Madame Wachner. "She told me of that visityou both made to the soothsayer. Perhaps she made up in her mind tofollow that person's advice. Our friend was always a little mysterious, was she not? Did she ever talk to you of her family, of her friends?" Shelooked inquisitively at her companion. 

"Yes--no, " said Sylvia, hesitating. "I do not think poor Anna has manyrelations. You see, she is a widow. I believe her father and mother aredead. "

"Ah, that is very sad! Then you do not know of anyone to write to abouther?"

"I?" said Sylvia. "No, of course I don't know of anyone to write to. Howcould I? I haven't known her very long, you know, Madame Wachner. But webecame friends almost at once. "

The motor was still stationary. The driver turned round for orders. Sylvia roused herself. 

"Can I drive you back to the Châlet des Muguets?" she asked. "Somehow Idon't feel inclined to take a drive in the forest now. "

"If you do not mind, " said Madame Wachner, "I should prefer to be drivento the station, for l'Ami Fritz had to go to Paris. " She laughedruefully. "To fetch money, as usual! His system did not work at allwell yesterday--poor Fritz!"

"How horrid!" said Sylvia. "It must be very disappointing to your husbandwhen his system goes wrong. "

"Yes, very, " answered the wife drily. "But when one system fails--well, then he at once sets himself to inventing another! I lose a great dealmore in the lower room playing with francs than Fritz does at baccaratplaying with gold. You see, a system has this good about it--the playergenerally comes out even at the end of each month. "

"Does he, indeed?"

But Sylvia was not attending to what the other was saying. She was stillabsorbed in the thought of her friend, and of the mystery of her friend'ssudden departure from Lacville. 

When at last they reached the station, Madame Wachner turned and graspedSylvia by the hand. 

"We must not let you become low-spirited!" she exclaimed. "It is a greatpity your kind friend has gone away. But doubtless you will soon be goingaway, too?"

And, as Sylvia made no answer, "Perhaps it would be well not to say toomuch concerning Madame Wolsky having left like this. She might come backany moment, and then she would not like it if there had been a fuss madeabout it! If I were you I would tell nobody--I repeat emphatically_nobody_. "

Madame Wachner stared significantly at Sylvia. "You do not know what thepolice of Lacville are like, my dear friend. They are very unpleasantpeople. As you were Anna's only friend in the place, they might give youconsiderable trouble. They would ask you where to look for her, and theywould torment you incessantly. If I were you I would say as little aspossible. "

Madame Wachner spoke very quickly, almost breathlessly, and Sylvia feltvaguely uncomfortable. There was, of course, only one person to whom shewas likely to mention the fact, and that was Paul de Virieu. 

Was it possible that Madame Wachner wished to warn her against tellinghim of a fact which he was sure to discover for himself in the course ofa day or two?

CHAPTER XV

As Sylvia drove away alone from the station, she felt exceedinglytroubled and unhappy. 

It was all very well for Madame Wachner to take the matter of AnnaWolsky's disappearance from Lacville so philosophically. The Wachners'acquaintance with Madame Wolsky had been really very slight, and theynaturally knew nothing of the Polish woman's inner nature andtemperament. 

Sylvia told herself that Anna must have been in great trouble, and thatsomething very serious must have happened to her, before she could havegone away like this, without saying anything about it. 

If poor Anna had changed her mind, and gone to the Casino the day before, she might, of course, have lost all her winnings and more. Sylviareminded herself that it stood to reason that if one could make hundredsof pounds in an hour or two, then one might equally lose hundreds ofpounds in the same time. But somehow she could hardly believe that herfriend had been so foolish. 

Still, how else to account for Anna's disappearance, her sudden exitfrom Lacville? Anna Wolsky was a proud woman, and Sylvia suspected thatif she had come unexpectedly to the end of her resources, she would havepreferred to go away rather than confide her trouble to a new friend. 

Tears slowly filled Sylvia Bailey's blue eyes. She felt deeply hurt byAnna's strange conduct. 

Madame Wachner's warning as to saying as little as possible of theother's departure from Lacville had made very little impression onSylvia, yet it so far affected her that, instead of telling MonsieurPolperro of the fact the moment she was back at the Villa du Lac, shewent straight up to her own room. But when there she found that she couldsettle down to nothing--neither to a book nor to letters. 

Since her husband's death Sylvia Bailey's social circle had become muchlarger, and there were a number of people who enjoyed inviting andmeeting the pretty, wealthy young widow. But just now all these friendsof hers in far-away England seemed quite unreal and, above all, quiteuninteresting. 

Sylvia told herself with bitter pain, and again the tears sprang to hereyes, that no one in the wide world really cared for her. Those peoplewho had been going to Switzerland had thrown her over without a thought. Anna Wolsky, who had spoken as if she really loved her only a day or twoago, and who had made that love her excuse for a somewhat impertinentinterference in Sylvia's private affairs, had left Lacville without evensending her word that she was leaving!

True, she had a new and a delightful friend in Count Paul de Virieu. Butwhat if Anna had been right? What if Count Paul were a dangerous friend, or, worse still, only amusing himself at her expense? True, he had takenher to see his sister; but that, after all, might not mean very much. 

Sylvia Bailey went through a very mournful hour. She felt terriblydepressed and unhappy, and at last, though there was still a considerabletime to dinner, she went downstairs and out into the garden with a book. 

And then, in a moment, everything was changed. From sad, she becamehappy; from mournful and self-pitying, full of exquisite content. 

Looking up, Sylvia had seen the now familiar figure of Count Paul deVirieu hurrying towards her. 

How early he had left Paris! She had understood that he meant to comeback by the last train, or more probably to-morrow morning. 

"Paris was so hot, and my sister found that friends of hers were passingthrough, so I came back earlier than I meant to do, " he said a littlelamely; and then, "Is anything the matter?"

He looked with quick, anxious concern into her pale face and red-liddedeyes. "Did you have a bad night at the tables?"

Sylvia shook her head. 

"Something so strange--so unexpected--has happened. " Her mouth quivered. "Anna Wolsky has left Lacville!"

"Left Lacville?" Count Paul repeated, in almost as incredulous a toneas that in which Sylvia herself had said the words when the news hadbeen first brought her. "Have you and she quarrelled, Mrs. Bailey? Youpermit?" He waited till she looked up and said listlessly, "Yes, pleasedo, " before lighting his cigarette. 

"Quarrelled? Oh, no! She has simply gone away without telling me!"

The Comte de Virieu looked surprised, but not particularly sorry. 

"That's very strange, " he said. "I should have thought your friend wasnot likely to leave Lacville for many weeks to come. "

His acute French mind had already glanced at all the sides of thesituation, and he was surprised at the mixed feelings which filled hisheart. With the Polish woman gone, his young English friend was notlikely to stay on at such a place as Lacville alone. 

"But where has Madame Wolsky gone?" he asked quickly. "And why has sheleft? Surely she is coming back?" (Sylvia could certainly stay on a fewdays alone at Lacville, if her friend was coming back. )

But what was this that Mrs. Bailey was saying in so plaintive a tone?

"That's the extraordinary thing about it! I haven't the slightest ideawhere Anna is, or why she has left Lacville. " In spite of herself hervoice trembled. "She did not give me the slightest warning of what shewas thinking of doing; in fact, only a few days ago, when we were talkingof our future plans, I tried to persuade her to come back to England withme on a long visit. "

"Tell me all that happened, " he said, sitting down and speaking in theeager, kindly way he seemed to keep for Sylvia alone. 

And then Sylvia told him. She described the coming of the messenger, herjourney to the Pension Malfait, and she repeated, as far as was possible, the exact words of her friend's curiously-worded, abrupt letter to MadameMalfait. 

"They all think, " she said at last, "that Anna went to the Casino andlost all her money--both the money she made, and the money she broughthere; and that then, not liking to tell even me anything about it, shemade up her mind to go away. "

"They _all_ think this?" repeated Count Paul, meaningly. "Whom do youmean by _all_, Mrs. Bailey?"

"I mean the people at the Pension Malfait, and the Wachners--"

"Then you saw the Wachners to-day?"

"I met Madame Wachner as I was going to the Pension Malfait, " saidSylvia, "and she went there with me. You see, the Wachners asked Anna tohave supper with them yesterday, and they waited for her ever so long, but she never came. That makes it clear that she must have left Lacvillesome time in the early afternoon. I wish--I cannot help wishing--that Ihad not gone into Paris yesterday, Count Paul. "

And then suddenly she realised how ungracious her words must sound. 

"No, no, " she cried, impetuously. "Of course, I do not mean that! I had avery, very happy time, and your sister was very kind and sweet to me. Butit makes me unhappy to think that Anna may have been worried and anxiousabout money with me away--"

There was a pause, and then, in a very different voice, Sylvia Baileyasked the Comte de Virieu a question that seemed to him utterlyirrelevant. 

"Do you believe in fortune-tellers?" she asked abruptly. "Are yousuperstitious?"

"Like everyone else, I have been to such people, " he answeredindifferently. "But if you ask my true opinion--well, no; I am quitesceptical! There may be something in what these dealers in hope sometimessay, but more often there is nothing. In fact, you must remember that awitch generally tells her client what she believes her client wishes tohear. "

"Madame Wachner is inclined to think that Anna left Lacville because ofsomething which a fortune-teller told her--indeed told both of us--beforewe came here. " Mrs. Bailey was digging the point of her parasol in thegrass. 

"Tiens! Tiens!" he exclaimed. "That is an odd idea! Pray tell me allabout it. Did you and your friend consult a fashionable necromancer, ordid you content yourselves with going to a cheap witch?"

"To quite a cheap witch. "

Sylvia laughed happily; she was beginning to feel really better now. Sherather wondered that she had never told Count Paul about that strangevisit to the fortune-teller, but she had been taught, as are so manyEnglishwomen of her type, to regard everything savouring of superstitionas not only silly and weak-minded, but also as rather discreditable. 

"The woman called herself Madame Cagliostra, " she went on gaily, "and sheonly charged five francs. In the end we did pay her fifteen. But she gaveus plenty for our money, I assure you--in fact, I can't remember half thethings she said!"

"And to you was prophesied--?" Count Paul leant forward and looked at herfixedly. 

Sylvia blushed. 

"Oh, she told me all sorts of things! As you say they don't really knowanything; they only guess. One of the things that she told me was that itwas possible, in fact, quite likely, that I should never go back toEngland--I mean at all! And that if I did so, I should go as a stranger. Wasn't that absurd?"

"Quite absurd, " said Count Paul, quietly. "For even if you married again, Madame; if you married a Frenchman, for instance, you would still wish togo back to your own country sometimes--at least, I suppose so. "

"Of course I should. " And once more Sylvia reddened violently. 

But this time Count Paul felt no pleasure in watching the flood ofcarmine staining not only the smooth, rounded cheek, but the whiteforehead and neck of his fair English friend. 

Sylvia went on speaking, a little quickly. 

"She said almost the same thing to Anna. Wasn't that odd? I mean she saidthat Anna would probably never go back to her own country. But what wasreally very strange was that she did not seem to be able to see intoAnna's future at all. And then--oh well, she behaved very oddly. Afterwe had gone she called us back--" Sylvia stopped for a moment. 

"Well?" said Count Paul eagerly. "What happened then?"

He seldom allowed himself the pleasure of looking into Sylvia's blueeyes. Now he asked for nothing better than that she should go on talkingwhile he went on looking at her. 

"She made us stand side by side--you must understand, Count, that we hadalready paid her and gone away--when she called us back. She stared at usin a very queer sort of way, and said that we must not leave Paris, or ifwe did leave Paris, we must not leave together. She said that if we didso we should run into danger. "

"All rather vague, " observed the Count. "And, from the little I know ofher, I should fancy Madame Wolsky the last woman in the world to bereally influenced by that kind of thing. "

He hardly knew what he was saying. His only wish was that Sylvia would goon talking to him in the intimate, confiding fashion she was now doing. Heavens! How wretched, how lonely he had felt in Paris after seeing heroff the day before!

"Oh, but at the time Anna was very much impressed, " said Sylvia, quickly. "Far more than I was--I know it made her nervous when she was firstplaying at the tables. And when she lost so much money the first week wewere here she said to me, 'That woman was right. We ought not to havecome to Lacville!' But afterwards, when she began to be so wonderfullylucky, she forgot all about it, or, rather, she only remembered that thewoman had said to her that she would have a great run of luck. "

"Then the woman said that, too, " remarked Count Paul, absently. 

(What was it his godmother had said? "I felicitate you on your conquest, naughty Paul!" and he had felt angry, even disgusted, with the old lady'scynical compliment. She had added, meaningly, "Why not turn over a newleaf? Why not marry this pretty creature? We should all be pleased to seeyou behave like a reasonable human being. ")

But Sylvia was answering him. 

"Yes, the woman said that Anna would be very lucky. "

The Comte de Virieu thought for a moment, and then withdrew his eyes fromhis friend's face. 

"I presume you have already telephoned to the hotel in Paris where youfirst met Madame Wolsky?"

"Why, it never occurred to me to do that!" cried Sylvia. "What a goodidea!"

"Wait, " he said. "I will go and do it for you. "

But five minutes later he came back, shaking his head. "I am sorry to saythe people at the Hôtel de l'Horloge know nothing of Madame Wolsky. Theyhave had no news of her since you and she both left the place. I wonderif the Wachners know more of her disappearance than they have told you?"

"What _do_ you mean?" asked Sylvia, very much surprised. 

"They're such odd people, " he said, in a dissatisfied voice. "And youknow they were always with your friend. When you were not there, theyhardly ever left her for a moment. "

"But I thought I had told you how distressed they are about it? How theywaited for her last evening and how she never came? Oh no, the Wachnersknow nothing, " declared Sylvia confidently. 

CHAPTER XVI

There is something very bewildering and distressing in the suddendisappearance or even the absence of a human being to whose affectionateand constant presence one has become accustomed. And as the hours wentby, and no letter or message arrived from Anna Wolsky, Sylvia becameseriously troubled, and spent much of her time walking to and from thePension Malfait. 

Surely Anna could not have left Paris, still less France, without herluggage? All sorts of dreadful possibilities crowded on Sylvia's mind;Anna Wolsky might have met with an accident: she might now be lyingunidentified in a Paris hospital. .. . 

At last she grew so uneasy about her friend that she felt she must dosomething!

Mine host of the Villa du Lac was kind and sympathetic, but even he couldsuggest no way of finding out where Anna had gone. 

And then Sylvia suddenly bethought herself that there was one thing shecould do which she had not done: she could surely go to the police ofLacville and ask them to make inquiries in Paris as to whether there hadbeen an accident of which the victim in any way recalled Anna Wolsky. 

To her surprise, M. Polperro shook his head very decidedly. 

"Oh no, do not go to the police!" he said in an anxious tone. "No, no, Ido not advise you to do that! Heaven knows I would do anything in reasonto help you, Madame, to find your friend. But I beg of you not to ask meto go for you to the police!"

Sylvia was very much puzzled. Why should M. Polperro be so unwilling toseek the help of the law in so simple a matter as this?

"I will go myself, " she said. 

And just then--they were standing in the hall together--the Comte deVirieu came up. 

"What is it you will do yourself, Madame?" he asked, smiling. 

Sylvia turned to him eagerly. 

"I feel that I should like to speak to the police about Anna Wolsky, " sheexclaimed. "It is the first thing one would do in England if a friendsuddenly disappeared--in fact, the police are always looking for peoplewho have gone away in a mysterious manner. You see, I can't help beingafraid, Count Paul"--she lowered her voice--"that Anna has met with somedreadful accident. She hasn't a friend in Paris! Suppose she is lying nowin some hospital, unable to make herself understood? I only wish that Ihad a photograph of Anna that I could take to them. "

"Well, there is a possibility that this may be so. But remember it iseven more probable that Madame Wolsky is quite well, and that she will beannoyed at your taking any such step to find her. "

"Yes, " said Sylvia, slowly. "I know that is quite possible. And yet--andyet it is so very unlike Anna not to send me a word of explanation! Andthen, you know in that letter she left in her room at the Pension Malfaitshe positively promised to send a telegram about her luggage. Surely itis very strange that she has not done that?"

"Well, if you really wish the police communicated with, " said the Comtede Virieu, "I will go to the police-station here, with pleasure. "

"Why should we not go together?" asked Sylvia, hesitatingly. 

"By all means. But think over what we are to say when we get there. Ifyour friend had not left the letter behind her, then, of course it wouldbe our positive duty to communicate with the police. But I cannot helpbeing afraid--" He stopped abruptly. 

"Of what are you afraid?" asked Sylvia eagerly. 

"I am afraid that Madame Wolsky may be very much offended by yourinterference in the matter. "

"Oh, no!" cried Sylvia. "Indeed, in that you are quite mistaken! I knowAnna would never be offended by anything I could do. She was very fond ofme, and so am I of her. But in any case I am willing to risk it. Yousee"--her voice broke, quivered--"I am really very unhappy about Anna--"

"When would you like to go to the Commissioner of Police?" asked theCount. 

"Is there any reason why we should not go now?"

"No. Let us go at once. I only had the feeling that you might hear fromher any moment. "

Together they walked up into the little town of Lacville. To each anyexpedition in which the other took part had become delightful. They weretogether now more than they had ever been before. No, Count Paul couldnot be sorry that Sylvia's friend had left Lacville. He had no wish forher return. 

At last they came to a rather mean-looking white house; out of one of thewindows hung a tricolour flag. 

"Here we are!" he said briefly. 

"It doesn't look a very imposing place, " said Sylvia smiling. 

But all the same, as the Count rang the bell Sylvia suddenly felt asif she would like to run away! After all, what should she say to theCommissioner of Police? Would he think her interference in Anna's affairsstrange and uncalled for? But she kept her thoughts to herself. 

They were shown into a room where a tired-looking man bent over a large, ink-stained table littered over with papers. 

"Monsieur? Madame?" he glanced up inquiringly, and gave them a searchinglook. But he did not rise from the table, as Sylvia expected him todo. "What can I do for you?" he said. "I am at your service, " and againhe stared with insistent curiosity at the couple before him, at thewell-dressed young Englishwoman and at her French companion. 

The Count explained at some length why they had come. 

And then at last the Commissioner of Police got up. 

"Madame has now been at Lacville three weeks?"--and he quickly made anote of the fact on a little tablet he held in his hand. "And her friend, a Polish lady named Wolsky, has left Lacville rather suddenly? Madamehas, however, received a letter from her friend explaining that she hadto leave unexpectedly?"

"No, " said Sylvia, quickly, "the letter was not sent to me; it was leftby my friend in her bed-room at the Pension Malfait. You see, the strangething, Monsieur, is that Madame Wolsky left all her luggage. She tookabsolutely nothing with her, excepting, of course, her money. And as yetnothing has come from her, although she promised to telegraph where herluggage was to be sent on to her! I come to you because I am afraid thatshe had met with some accident in the Paris streets, and I thought youwould be able to telephone for us to the Paris Police. "

She looked very piteously at the French official, and his face softened, a kindly look came over it. 

"Well, Madame, " he said, "I will certainly do everything I can. But Imust ask you to provide me first with a few more particulars about yourfriend. "

"I will tell you everything I know. But I really do not know very much. "

"Her age?" said the Commissioner. 

"I do not know her age, but I suppose she is about thirty. "

"The place of her birth?"

Sylvia shook her head. 

"What is her permanent address? Surely you know with whom you couldcommunicate the news of an accident having happened to her?"

"I am afraid I don't even know that. " Sylvia began to feel ratherfoolish. But--but was it so strange after all? Who among the people shewas now living with knew anything of her far-away English home? Ifanything happened to herself, for instance? Even Count Paul would notknow to whom to write. It was an odd, rather an uncomfortable thought. 

The Commissioner went to a drawer and pulled out from it a portfoliofilled with loose pieces of paper. 

"Malfait? Malfait? Malfait?" he muttered interrogatively to himself. Andat last he found what he was looking for. It was a large sheet, on whichwas inscribed in large round letters "Pension Malfait. " There were manyclose lines of writing under the words. He looked down and read throughall that was there. 

"The Pension Malfait has a good reputation!" he exclaimed, in a relievedtone. "I gather from what you say, Monsieur, "--he gave a quick shrewdlook at the Count--"that Madame and her friend did not play in a serioussense at the Casino--I mean, there was no large sum of money inquestion?"

Count Paul hesitated--but Sylvia thought that surely it were better totell the truth. 

"Yes, " she said, "my friend did play, and she played rather high. Shemust have had a large sum of money in her possession when she leftLacville, unless she lost it all on the last day. But I was in Paris, and so I don't know what she did. "

The Commissioner looked grave. 

"Ah, but that alters the case very much!" he said. "I must request you tocome with me to the Pension Malfait. We had better pursue our inquiriesthere. If this Madame Wolsky had a large sum of money in notes and gold, it becomes very important that we should know where she is. "

They all three left the shabby little house together, and Sylvia couldnot help wondering what would happen there while they were gone. But theCommissioner solved her doubts by turning the key in the door. 

The Count hailed a cab, and they all got into it. Then followed a curiouslittle drive. The Commissioner made polite conversation with Mrs. Bailey. He spoke of the beauties of Lacville. "And Madame, " he said, pleasantly, "is staying at the Villa du Lac? It is a charming house, with historicassociations. "

Sylvia was surprised. She remembered clearly that she had not told thepolice official where she was staying. 

When they reached the Pension Malfait they were kept waiting a fewmoments, but at last M. Malfait appeared in the hall. He received themwith obsequious amiability. 

Still, even Sylvia could not but be aware that he was extremely angry, and she herself felt wretchedly uncomfortable. What if Anna Wolsky wereall right after all? Would she not blame her for having made such a fuss?

"Everything is quite _en règle_, " M. Malfait said smoothly when thepurport of their presence was explained to him in a few curt words bythe Commissioner of Police. 

"You see, Monsieur le Commissaire, it is quite simple. The lady left usa letter explaining why she was obliged to go away. I do not know whyMadame"--he turned to Sylvia--"thought it necessary to go to you? We havebeen perfectly open about the whole matter. We are respectable people, and have absolutely nothing to hide. Madame Wolsky's boxes are there, inher bed-room; I might have let the room twice over since she left, butno, I prefer to wait, hoping that the lady--the very charming lady--willcome back. "

"By the way, where is the letter which she left?" said the Commissionerin a business-like voice. "I should like to see that letter. "

"Where is the letter?" repeated Monsieur Malfait vaguely. Then in a loudvoice, he said, "I will ask my wife for the letter. She looks after thecorrespondence. "

Madame Malfait came forward. She looked even more annoyed than herhusband had looked when he had seen by whom Sylvia was accompanied. 

"The letter?" she repeated shortly. "Mon Dieu! I do not know where I haveput it. But by this time I almost know it by heart. It was a pleasingletter, for it spoke very warmly of our establishment. But where is theletter?" she looked round her, as if she expected to find it suddenlyappear. 

"Ah! I remember to whom I showed it last! It was to that agreeable friendof Madame Wolsky"--she put an emphasis on the word "agreeable, " andstared hard at Sylvia as she did so. "It was to that Madame Wachner Ilast showed it. Perhaps she put it in her pocket, and forgot to give itme back. I know she said she would like her husband to see it. Monsieurand Madame Wachner often take their meals here. I will ask them if theyhave the letter. "

"Well, at any rate, we had better open Madame Wolsky's trunks; that maygive us some clue, " said the Commissioner in a weary voice. 

And, to Sylvia's confusion and distress, they all then proceeded to thebed-room where she had last seen her friend, and there Monsieur Malfaitbroke the locks of Anna Wolsky's two large trunks. 

But the contents of Anna's trunks taught them nothing. They were only thekind of objects and clothes that a woman who travelled about the world agreat deal would naturally take with her. Everything, however, was takenout, turned over, and looked at. 

"If your friend possessed a passport, " said the police official in adissatisfied tone, "she has evidently taken it with her. There is nothingof any consequence at all in those boxes. We had better shut them upagain, and leave them. "

But when they came down again into the hall, he suddenly asked MonsieurMalfait, "Well, where is the letter?" He had evidently forgotten MadameMalfait's involved explanation. 

"I will send you the letter to-morrow, " said Monsieur Malfait smoothly. "The truth is, we handed it to a lady who was also a friend of MadameWolsky, and she evidently forgot to give it back to us. We will find outwhether she has kept it. "

On the way back the Commissioner of Police said gaily, "It is quite clear that Madame"--he turned and bowed courteously toSylvia--"knows very little of Lacville, Monsieur le Comte! Why, peopleare always disappearing from Lacville! My time would indeed be full wereI to follow all those who go away in a hurry--not but what I have beenonly too delighted to do this for Madame and for Monsieur le Comte. "

He then bowed to the Count and stared smilingly at Sylvia. 

"I am pleased to think, " he went on playfully, "that Madame herself isnot likely to meet with any unpleasant adventure here, for the Villa duLac is a most excellent and well-conducted house. Be assured, Madame, that I will find out in the next few hours if your friend has met withan accident in the Paris streets. "

He left them at the gate of the Villa. 

When the Commissioner had quite disappeared, the Count observed, "Well, we have done what you wished. But it has not had much result, has it?"

Sylvia shook her head disconsolately. 

"No, Count Paul. I am afraid I made a mistake in going to the police. TheMalfaits are evidently very angry with me! And yet--and yet, you know inEngland it's the first thing that people do. "

Count Paul laughed kindly. 

"It is a matter of absolutely no consequence. But you see, you neverquite understand, my dear friend, that Lacville is a queer place, andthat here, at any rate, the hotel-keepers are rather afraid of thepolice. I was even glad that the Commissioner did not ask to look over_your_ boxes, and did not exact a passport from you!"

More seriously he added, "But I see that you are dreadfully anxious aboutMadame Wolsky, and I myself will communicate with the Paris police aboutthe matter. It is, as you say, possible, though not probable, that shemet with an accident after leaving you. "

CHAPTER XVII

A long week went by, and still no news, no explanation of her abruptdeparture from Lacville, was received from Anna Wolsky; and the ownersof the Pension Malfait were still waiting for instructions as to whatwas to be done with Madame Wolsky's luggage, and with the various littlepersonal possessions she had left scattered about her room. 

As for Sylvia, it sometimes seemed to her as if her Polish friend hadbeen obliterated, suddenly blotted out of existence. 

But as time went on she felt more and more pained and discomfited byAnna's strange and heartless behaviour to herself. Whatever the reasonfor Madame Wolsky's abrupt departure, it would not have taken her amoment to have sent Sylvia Bailey a line--if only to say that she couldgive no explanation of her extraordinary conduct. 

Fortunately there were many things to distract Sylvia's thoughts fromAnna Wolsky. She now began each morning with a two hours' ride with Paulde Virieu. She had a graceful seat, and had been well taught; only alittle practice, so the Count assured her, was needed to make her intoa really good horsewoman, the more so that she was very fearless. 

Leaving the flat plain of Lacville far behind them, they would make theirway into the Forest of Montmorency, and through to the wide valley, whichis so beautiful and so little known to most foreign visitors to Paris. 

The Duchesse d'Eglemont had sent her maid to Lacville with the ridinghabit she was lending Sylvia, and by a word M. Polperro let fall, theEnglishwoman realised, with mingled confusion and amusement, that thehotel-keeper supposed her to be an old and intimate friend of CountPaul's sister. 

The other people in the hotel began to treat her with marked cordiality. 

And so it came to pass that outwardly the Polish lady's disappearancecame to be regarded even by Sylvia as having only been a ripple on thepleasant, lazy, agreeable life she, Count Paul, and last, not least, theWachners, were all leading at Lacville. 

In fact, as the days went on, only Mrs. Bailey herself and that kindlycouple, Madame Wachner and her silent husband, seemed to remember thatAnna had ever been there. During the first days, when Sylvia had beenreally very anxious and troubled, she had had cause to be grateful tothe Wachners for their sympathy; for whereas Paul de Virieu seemed onlyinterested in Anna Wolsky because she, Sylvia, herself was interested, both Madame Wachner and her morose, silent husband showed real concernand distress at the mysterious lack of news. 

Whenever Sylvia saw them, and she saw them daily at the Casino, eitherMadame Wachner or L'Ami Fritz would ask her in an eager, sympatheticvoice, "Have you had news of Madame Wolsky?"

And then, when she shook her head sadly, they would express--andespecially Madame Wachner would express--increasing concern and surpriseat Anna's extraordinary silence. 

"If only she had come to us as she arranged to do!" the older womanexclaimed more than once in a regretful tone. "Then, at any rate, weshould know something; she would not have concealed her plans from usentirely; we were, if new friends, yet on such kind, intimate terms withthe dear soul!"

And now, as had been the case exactly a week ago, Sylvia was resting inher room. She was sitting just as she had then sat, in a chair drawn upclose to the window. There had been no ride that morning, for Paul deVirieu had been obliged to go into Paris for the day. 

Sylvia felt dull and listless. She had never before experienced thataching longing for the presence of another human being which in ourcivilised life is disguised under many names, but which in this case, Sylvia herself called by that of "friendship. "

Moreover, she had received that morning a letter which had greatlydisturbed her. It now lay open on her lap, for she had just read itthrough again. This letter was quite short, and simply contained the newsthat Bill Chester, her good friend, sometime lover, and trustee, wasgoing to Switzerland after all, and that he would stop a couple of daysin Paris in order to see her. 

It was really very nice of Bill to do this, and a month ago Sylvia wouldhave looked forward to seeing him. But now everything was changed, andSylvia could well have dispensed with Bill Chester's presence. 

The thought of Chester at Lacville filled her with unease. When she hadleft her English home two months ago--it seemed more like two years thantwo months--she had felt well disposed to the young lawyer, and deep inher inmost heart she had almost brought herself to acknowledge that shemight very probably in time become his wife. 

She suspected that Chester had been fond of her when she was a girl, ata time when his means would not have justified him in proposing to her, for he was one of those unusual men who think it dishonourable to askgirls to marry them unless they are in a position to keep a wife. Sheremembered how he had looked--how set and stern his face had become whensomeone had suddenly told him in her presence of her engagement to GeorgeBailey, the middle-aged man who had been so kind to her, and yet who hadcounted for so little in her life, though she had given him all she couldof love and duty. 

Since her widowhood, so she now reminded herself remorsefully, Chesterhad been extraordinarily good to her, and his devotion had touched herbecause it was expressed in actions rather than in words, for he was alsothe unusual type of man, seldom a romantic type, who scorns, however muchin love, to take advantage of a fiduciary position to strengthen his own. 

The fact that he was her trustee brought them into frequent conflict. Toooften Bill was the candid friend instead of the devoted lover. Their onlyreal quarrel--if quarrel it could be called--had been, as we know, overthe purchase of her string of pearls. But time, or so Sylvia confidentlybelieved, had proved her to have been right, for her "investment, " as shealways called it to Bill Chester, had improved in value. 

But though she had been right in that comparatively trifling matter, sheknew that Chester would certainly disapprove of the kind of life--theidle, purposeless, frivolous life--she was now leading. 

Looking out over the lake, which, as it was an exceedingly hot, fine day, was already crowded with boats, Sylvia almost made up her mind to go backinto Paris for two or three days. 

Bill would think it a very strange thing that she was staying here inLacville all by herself. But the thought of leaving Lacville just nowwas very disagreeable to Sylvia. .. . She wondered uncomfortably what hertrustee would think of her friendship with Count Paul de Virieu--withthis Frenchman who, when he was not gambling at the Casino, spent everymoment of his time with her. 

But deep in her heart Sylvia knew well that when Bill Chester was therePaul de Virieu would draw back; only when they were really alone togetherdid he talk eagerly, naturally. 

In the dining-room of the Villa he hardly ever spoke to her, and whenthey were both in the Baccarat-room of the Club he seldom came and stoodby her side, though when she looked up she often found his eyes fixed onher with that ardent, absorbed gaze which made her heart beat, and hercheeks flush with mingled joy and pain. 

Suddenly, as if her thoughts had brought him there, she saw Count Paul'sstraight, slim figure turn in from the road through the gates of theVilla. 

He glanced up at her window and took off his hat. He looked cool, unruffled, and self-possessed, but her eager eyes saw a change in hisface. He looked very grave, and yet oddly happy. Was it possible that hehad news at last of Anna Wolsky?

He mounted the stone-steps and disappeared into the house; and Sylvia, getting up, began moving restlessly about her room. She longed to godownstairs, and yet a feminine feeling of delicacy restrained her fromdoing so. 

A great stillness brooded over everything. The heat had sent everyoneindoors. M. Polperro, perhaps because of his Southern up-bringing, alwaystook an early afternoon siesta. It looked as if his servants followed hisexample. The Villa du Lac seemed asleep. 

Sylvia went across to the other window, the window overlooking the large, shady garden, and there, glancing down, she saw Count Paul. 

"Come into the garden--, " he said softly in English; and Sylvia, leaningover the bar of her window, thought he added the word "Maud"--but ofcourse that could not have been so, for her name, as the Count knew well, was Sylvia! And equally of course he always addressed her as "Madame. "

"It's so nice and cool up here, " she whispered back. "I don't believe itis half so cool in the garden!"

She gazed down into his upturned face with innocent coquetry, pretending--only pretending--to hesitate as to what she would do inanswer to his invitation. 

But Sylvia Bailey was but an amateur at the Great Game, the game at whichonly two--only a man and a woman--can play, and yet which is capable ofsuch infinite, such bewilderingly protean variations. So her next move, one which Paul de Virieu, smiling behind his moustache, foresaw--was toturn away from the window. 

She ran down the broad shallow staircase very quickly, for it hadoccurred to her that the Count, taking her at her word, might leave thegarden, and, sauntering off to the Casino, lose his money--for whateverhe might be in love, Count Paul was exceedingly unlucky at cards! Andlately she had begun to think that she was gradually weaning her friendfrom what she knew to be in his case, whatever it was in hers, and inthat of many of the people about them, the terrible vice of gambling. 

When, a little breathless, she joined him in the garden, she found thathe had already taken two rocking-chairs into a shady corner which was outof sight of the white villa and of its inquisitive windows. 

"Something very serious has happened, " said Count Paul slowly. 

He took both her hands in his and looked down into her face. Withsurprise and concern she saw that his eyelids were red. Was it possiblethat Count Paul had been crying? He almost looked as if he had. 

The idea of a grown-up man allowing himself to give way to emotion ofthat sort would have seemed absurd to Sylvia a short time ago, butsomehow the thought that Paul de Virieu had shed tears made her feelextraordinarily moved. 

"What is the matter?" she asked anxiously. "Has anything happened to yoursister?"

"Thank God--no!" he answered hastily. "But something else, somethingwhich was to be expected, but which I did not expect, has happened--"

And then, very gravely, and at last releasing her hands, he added, "Mykind godmother, the little Marquise you met last week, died last night. "

Sylvia felt the sudden sense of surprise, almost of discomfiture, theyoung always feel in the neighbourhood of death. 

"How dreadful! She seemed quite well when we saw her that day--"

She could still hear echoing in her ears the old lady's half-mocking butkindly compliments. 

"Ah! but she was very, very old--over ninety! Why, she was supposed tobe aged when she became my godmother thirty odd years ago!"

He waited a moment, and then added, quietly, "She has left me in her willtwo hundred thousand francs. "

"Oh, I _am_ glad!"

Sylvia stretched out both hands impulsively, and the Comte de Virieu tookfirst one and then the other and raised them to his lips. 

"Eight thousand pounds? Does it seem a fortune to you, Madame?"

"Of course it does!" exclaimed Sylvia. 

"It frees me from the necessity of being a pensioner on mybrother-in-law, " he said slowly, and Sylvia felt a little chillof disappointment. Was that his only pleasure in his legacy?

"You will not play with _this_ money?" she said, in a low voice. 

"It is no use my making a promise, especially to you, that I might not beable to keep--"

He got up, and stood looking down at her. 

"But I promise that I will not waste or risk this money if I can resistthe temptation to do so. "

Sylvia smiled, though she felt more inclined to cry. 

He seemed stung by her look. 

"Do you wish me to give you my word of honour that I will not risk any ofthis money at the tables?" he asked, almost in a whisper. 

Sylvia's heart began to beat. Count Paul had become very pale. There wasa curious expression on his face--an expression of revolt, almost ofanger. 

"Do you exact it?" he repeated, almost violently. 

And Sylvia faltered out, "Could you keep your word if I did exact it?"

"Ah, you have learnt to know me too well!"

He walked away, leaving her full of perplexity and pain. 

A few moments passed. They seemed very long moments to Sylvia Bailey. Then Count Paul turned and came back. 

He sat down, and made a great effort to behave as if nothing unusual ormemorable had passed between them. 

"And has anything happened here?" he asked. "Is there any news of yourvanished friend?"

Sylvia shook her head gravely. The Polish woman's odd, and, to her, inexplicable, conduct still hurt her almost as much as it had done atfirst. 

The Count leant forward, and speaking this time very seriously indeed, hesaid, in a low voice:--

"I wish to say something to you, and I am now going to speak as franklyas if you were--my sister. You are wrong to waste a moment of your timein regretting Madame Wolsky. She is an unhappy woman, held tightly in thepaws of the tiger--Play. That is the truth, my friend! It is a pity youever met her, and I am glad she went away without doing you any furthermischief. It was bad enough of her to have brought you to Lacville, andtaught you to gamble. Had she stayed on, she would have tried in time tomake you go on with her to Monte Carlo. "

He shook his head expressively

Sylvia looked at him with surprise. He had never spoken to her of Anna inthis way before. She hesitated, then said a little nervously, "Tell me, did you ask Madame Wolsky to go away? Please don't mind myasking you this?"

"_I_ ask Madame Wolsky to go away?" he repeated, genuinely surprised. "Such a thought never even crossed my mind. It would have been veryimpertinent--what English people would call 'cheeky'--of me to do sucha thing! You must indeed think me a hypocrite! Have I not shared yoursurprise and concern at her extraordinary disappearance? And her luggage?If I had wished her to go away, I should not have encouraged her to leaveall her luggage behind her!" he spoke with the sarcastic emphasis ofwhich the French are masters. 

Sylvia grew very red. 

As a matter of fact, it had been Madame Wachner who had suggested thatidea to her. Only the day before, when Sylvia had been wondering forthe thousandth time where Anna could be, the older woman had exclaimedmeaningly, "I should not be surprised if that Count de Virieu persuadedyour friend to go away. He wants the field clear for himself. "

And then she had seemed to regret her imprudent words, and she had beggedSylvia not to give the Count any hint of her suspicion. Even now Sylviadid not mention Madame Wachner. 

"Of course, I don't think you a hypocrite, " she said awkwardly, "but younever did like poor Anna, and you were always telling me that Lacvilleisn't a place where a nice woman ought to stay long. I thought you mighthave said something of the same kind to Madame Wolsky. "

"And do you really suppose, " Count Paul spoke with a touch of sharp ironyin his voice, "that your friend would have taken my advice? Do you thinkthat Madame Wolsky would look either to the right or the left when theGoddess of Chance beckoned?"--and he waved his hand in the directionwhere the white Casino lay. 

"But the Goddess of Chance did not beckon to her to leave Lacville!"Sylvia exclaimed. "Why, she meant to stay on here till the middle ofSeptember--"

"You asked me a very indiscreet question just now"--the Count leantforward, and looked straight into Mrs. Bailey's eyes. 

His manner had again altered. He spoke far more authoritatively thanhe had ever spoken before, and Sylvia, far from resenting this new, possessive attitude, felt thrilled and glad. When Bill Chester spoke asif he had authority over her, it always made her indignant, even angry. 

"Did I?" she said nervously. 

"Yes! You asked me if I had persuaded Madame Wolsky to leave Lacville. Well, now I ask you, in my turn, whether it has ever occurred to you thatthe Wachners know more of your Polish friend's departure than they admit?I gathered that impression the only time I talked to your Madame Wachnerabout the matter. I felt sure she knew more than she would say! Ofcourse, it was only an impression. "

Sylvia hesitated. 

"At first Madame Wachner seemed annoyed that I made a fuss about it, " shesaid thoughtfully. "But later she seemed as surprised and sorry as I ammyself. Oh, no, Count, I am sure you are wrong--why you forget thatMadame Wachner walked up to the Pension Malfait that same evening--I meanthe evening of the day Anna left Lacville. In fact, it was Madame Wachnerwho first found out that Anna had not come home. She went up to herbed-room to look for her. "

"Then it was Madame Wachner who found the letter?" observed the Countinterrogatively. 

"Oh, no, it was not Madame Wachner who found it. Anna's letter wasdiscovered the next morning by the chambermaid in a blotting-book on thewriting table. No one had thought of looking there. You see they were allexpecting her back that night. Madame Malfait still thinks that poor Annawent to the Casino in the afternoon, and after having lost her money cameback to the pension, wrote the letter, and then went out and left forParis without saying anything about it to anyone!"

"I suppose something of that sort did happen, " observed the Comte deVirieu thoughtfully. 

"And now, " he said, getting up from his chair, "I think I will take aturn at the Casino after all!"

Sylvia's lip quivered, but she was too proud to appeal to him to stay. Still, she felt horribly hurt. 

"You see what I am like, " he said, in a low, shamed voice. "I wish youhad made me give you my word of honour. "

She got up. It was cruel, very cruel, of him to say that to her. Howamazingly their relation to one another had altered in the lasthalf-hour!

For the moment they were enemies, and it was the enemy in Sylvia thatnext spoke. "I think I shall go and have tea with the Wachners. Theynever go to the Casino on Saturday afternoons. "

A heavy cloud came over Count Paul's face. 

"I can't think what you see to like in that vulgar old couple, " heexclaimed irritably. "To me there is something"--he hesitated, seekingfor an English word which should exactly express the French word"_louche_"--"sinister--that is the word I am looking for--there isto me something sinister about the Wachners. "

"Sinister?" echoed Sylvia, really surprised. "Why, they seem to me to bethe most good-natured, commonplace people in the world, and then they'reso fond of one another!"

"I grant you that, " he said. "I quite agree that that ugly old woman isvery fond of her 'Ami Fritz'--but I do not know if he returns thecompliment!"

Sylvia looked pained, nay more, shocked. 

"I suppose French husbands only like their wives when they are young andpretty, " she said slowly. 

"Another of the many injustices you are always heaping on my poorcountry, " the Count protested lightly. "But I confess I deserved it thistime! Joking apart, I think 'L'Ami Fritz' is very fond of his"--hehesitated, then ended his sentence with "Old Dutch!"

Sylvia could not help smiling. 

"It is too bad of you, " she exclaimed, "to talk like that! The Wachnersare very nice people, and I won't allow you to say anything againstthem!"

Somehow they were friends again. His next words proved it. 

"I will not say anything against the Wachners this afternoon. In fact, if you will allow me to do so, I will escort you part of the way. "

And he was even better than his word, for he went on with Sylvia tillthey were actually within sight of the little, isolated villa where theWachners lived. 

There, woman-like, she made an effort to persuade him to go in with her. 

"Do come, " she said urgently. "Madame Wachner would be so pleased! Shewas saying the other day that you had never been to their house. "

But Count Paul smilingly shook his head. 

"I have no intention of ever going there, " he said deliberately. "You seeI do not like them! I suppose--I hope"--he looked again straight intoSylvia Bailey's ingenuous blue eyes--"that the Wachners have never triedto borrow money of you?"

"Never!" she cried, blushing violently. "Never, Count Paul! Your dislikeof my poor friends makes you unjust--it really does. "

"It does! It does! I beg their pardon and yours. I was foolish, nay, farworse, indiscreet, to ask you this question. I regret I did so. Accept myapology. "

She looked at him to see if he was sincere. His face was very grave; andshe looked at him with perplexed, unhappy eyes. 

"Oh, don't say that!" she said. "Why should you mind saying anything tome?"

But the Comte de Virieu was both vexed and angry with himself. 

"It is always folly to interfere in anyone else's affairs, " he muttered. "But I have this excuse--I happen to know that last week, or rather tendays ago, the Wachners were in considerable difficulty about money. Thensuddenly they seemed to have found plenty, in fact, to be as we say here, '_à flot_'; I confess that I foolishly imagined, nay, I almost hoped, that they owed this temporary prosperity to you! But of course I had nobusiness to think about it at all--still less any business to speak toyou about the matter. Forgive me, I will not so err again. "

And then, with one of his sudden, stiff bows, the Comte de Virieu turnedon his heel, leaving Sylvia to make her way alone to the little woodengate on which were painted the words "Châlet des Muguets. "

CHAPTER XVIII

Sylvia pushed open the little white gate of the Châlet des Muguets andbegan walking up the path which lay through the neglected, untidy garden. 

To eyes accustomed to the exquisitely-kept gardens of an English countrytown, there was something almost offensive in the sight presented by thehigh, coarse grass and luxuriant unkemptness of the place, and once moreSylvia wondered how the Wachners could bear to leave the land surroundingtheir temporary home in such a state. 

But the quaint, fantastic-looking, one-storeyed châlet amused and ratherinterested her, for it was so entirely unlike any other dwelling withwhich she was acquainted. 

To-day a deep, hot calm brooded over the silent house anddeserted-looking garden; the chocolate-coloured shutters of thedining-room and the drawing-room were closed, and Sylvia told herselfthat it would be delightful to pass from the steamy heat outside into thedimly-lighted, sparsely-furnished little "salon, " there to have a cup oftea and a pleasant chat with her friends before accompanying them in thecool of the early evening to the Casino. 

Sylvia always enjoyed talking to Madame Wachner. She was a little bitashamed that this was so, for this cosmopolitan woman's conversation wasnot always quite refined, but she was good-natured and lively, and hertalk was invariably amusing. Above all, she knew how to flatter, andafter a chat with Madame Wachner Sylvia Bailey always felt pleased bothwith herself and with the world about her. 

There was very little concerning the young Englishwoman's simple, uneventful life with which Madame Wachner was not by now acquainted. Shewas aware for instance, that Sylvia had no close relations of her own, and that, like Anna Wolsky, Mrs. Bailey knew nobody--she had not evenan acquaintance--living in Paris. 

This fact had enlisted to a special degree Madame Wachner's interest andliking for the two young widows. 

Sylvia rang the primitive bell which hung by the door which alone gaveaccess, apart from the windows, to the Châlet des Muguets. 

After some moments the day-servant employed by Madame Wachner opened thedoor with the curt words, "Monsieur and Madame are in Paris. " The womanadded, in a rather insolent tone, "They have gone to fetch some money, "and her manner said plainly enough, "Yes, my master and mistress--sillyfools--have lost their money at the Casino, and now they are gone to getfresh supplies!"

Sylvia felt vexed and disappointed. After what had been to her a veryexciting, agitating conversation with Count Paul, she had unconsciouslylonged for the cheerful, commonplace talk of Madame Wachner. 

As she stood there in the bright sunlight the thought of the long, lonely, hot walk back to the Villa du Lac became odious to her. 

Why should she not go into the house and rest awhile? The more so thatthe Wachners would almost certainly return home very soon. They dislikedParis, and never stayed more than a couple of hours on their occasionalvisits there. 

In her careful, rather precise French, she told the servant she wouldcome in and wait. 

"I am sure that Madame Wachner would wish me to do so, " she said, smiling; and after a rather ungracious pause the woman admitted her intothe house, leading the way into the darkened dining-room. 

"Do you think it will be long before Madame Wachner comes back?" askedSylvia. 

The woman hesitated--"I cannot tell you that, " she mumbled. "They neversay when they are going, or when they will be back. They are very oddpeople!"

She bustled out of the room for a few moments and then came back, holdinga big cotton parasol in her hand. 

"I do not know if Madame wishes to stay on here by herself? As for me, I must go now, for my work is done. Perhaps when Madame leaves the houseshe will put the key under the mat. "

"Yes, if I leave the house before my friends return home I will certainlydo so. But I expect Madame Wachner will be here before long. "

Sylvia spoke shortly. She did not like the day-servant's independent, almost rude way of speaking. 

"Should the master and mistress come back before Madame has left, willMadame kindly explain that she _insisted_ on coming into the house? I amabsolutely forbidden to admit visitors unless Madame Wachner is here toentertain them. "

The woman spoke quickly, her eyes fixed expectantly on the lady sittingbefore her. 

Mrs. Bailey suddenly realised, or thought she realised, what that lookmeant. She took her purse out of her pocket and held out a two-francpiece. 

"Certainly, " she answered coldly, "I will explain to Madame Wachner thatI insisted on coming in to rest. "

The woman's manner altered; it became at once familiar and servile. Afterprofusely thanking Sylvia for her "tip, " she laid the cotton parasol onthe dining-table, put her arms akimbo, and suddenly asked, "Has Madameheard any news of her friend? I mean of the Polish lady?"

"No, " Sylvia looked up surprised. "I'm sorry to say that there is stillno news of her, but, of course, there will be soon. "

She was astonished that the Wachners should have mentioned the matter tothis disagreeable, inquisitive person. 

"The lady stopped here on her way to the station. She seemed in very highspirits. "

"Oh, no, you are quite mistaken, " said Sylvia quickly. "Madame Wolsky didnot come here at all the day she left Lacville. She was expected, both totea and to supper, but she did not arrive--"

"Indeed, yes, Madame! I had to come back that afternoon, for I hadforgotten to bring in some sugar. The lady was here then, and she wasstill here when I left the house. "

"I assure you that this cannot have been on the day my friend leftLacville, " said Mrs. Bailey quickly. "Madame Wolsky left on a Saturdayafternoon. As I told you just now, Madame Wachner expected her to supper, but she never came. She went to Paris instead. "

The servant looked at her fixedly, and Sylvia's face became what itseldom was--very forbidding in expression. She wished this meddling, familiar woman would go away and leave her alone. 

"No doubt Madame knows best! One day is like another to me. I begMadame's pardon. "

The Frenchwoman took up her parasol and laid the house key on the table, then, with a "_Bon jour, Madame, et encore merci bien!_" she noisilyclosed the door behind her. 

A moment later, Sylvia, with a sense of relief, found herself in solepossession of the Châlet des Muguets. 

 * * * * *

Even the quietest, the most commonplace house has, as it were, anindividuality that sets it apart from other houses. And even those whowould deny that proposition must admit that every inhabited dwelling hasits own special nationality. 

The Châlet des Muguets was typically French and typically suburban; butwhere it differed from thousands of houses of the same type, dotted roundin the countrysides within easy reach of Paris, was that it was let eachyear to a different set of tenants. 

In Sylvia Bailey's eyes the queer little place lacked all the elementswhich go to make a home; and, sitting there, in that airless, darkeneddining-room, she wondered, not for the first time, why the Wachners choseto live in such a comfortless way. 

She glanced round her with distaste. Everything was not only cheap, butcommon and tawdry. Still, the dining-room, like all the other rooms inthe châlet, was singularly clean, and almost oppressively neat. 

There was the round table at which she and Anna Wolsky had been so kindlyentertained, the ugly buffet or sideboard, and in place of the dullparquet floor she remembered on her first visit lay an ugly piece oflinoleum, of which the pattern printed on the surface simulated a redand blue marble pavement. 

Once more the change puzzled her, perhaps unreasonably. 

At last Sylvia got up from the hard cane chair on which she had beensitting. 

There had come over her, in the half-darkness, a very peculiarsensation--an odd feeling that there was something alive in the room. Shelooked down, half expecting to see some small animal crouching under thetable, or hiding by the walnut-wood buffet behind her. 

But, no; nothing but the round table, and the six chairs stiffly placedagainst the wall, met her eyes. And yet, still that feeling that therewas in the room some sentient creature besides herself persisted. 

She opened the door giving into the hall, and walked through the shortpassage which divided the house into two portions, into the tiny "salon. "

Here also the closed shutters gave the room a curious, eerie lookof desolate greyness. But Sylvia's eyes, already accustomed to thehalf-darkness next door, saw everything perfectly. 

The little sitting-room looked mean and shabby. There was not a flower, not even a book or a paper, to relieve its prim ugliness. The onlyornaments were a gilt clock on the mantelpiece, flanked with two shamEmpire candelabra. The shutters were fastened closely, and the room wasdreadfully hot and airless. 

Once more Sylvia wondered why the Wachners preferred to live in thischeerless way, with a servant who only came for a few hours each day, rather than at an hotel or boarding-house. 

And then she reminded herself that, after all, the silent, gaunt man, andhis talkative, voluble wife, seemed to be on exceptionally good terms theone with the other. Perhaps they really preferred being alone togetherthan in a more peopled atmosphere. 

While moving aimlessly about the room, Sylvia began to feel unaccountablynervous and oppressed. She longed to be away from this still, emptyhouse, and yet it seemed absurd to leave just as the Wachners would bereturning home. 

After a few more minutes, however, the quietude, and the havingabsolutely nothing to do with which to wile away the time, affectedSylvia's nerves. 

It was, after all, quite possible that the Wachners intended to wait inParis till the heat of the day was over. In that case they would not beback till seven o'clock. 

The best thing she could do would be to leave a note inviting MadameWachner and L'Ami Fritz to dinner at the Villa du Lac. Count Paul was tobe in Paris this evening, so his eyes would not be offended by the sightof the people of whom he so disapproved. Madame Wachner would probably beglad to dine out, the more so that no proper meal seemed to have beenprepared by that unpleasant day-servant. Why, the woman had not even laidthe cloth for her employers' supper!

Sylvia looked instinctively round for paper and envelopes, but therewas no writing-table, not even a pencil and paper, in the littledrawing-room. How absurd and annoying!

But, stay--somewhere in the house there must be writing materials. 

Treading softly, and yet hearing her footsteps echoing with unpleasantloudness through the empty house, Sylvia Bailey walked past the open doorof the little kitchen, and so to the end of the passage. 

Then something extraordinary happened. 

While in the act of opening the door of Madame Wachner's bed-room, theyoung Englishwoman stopped and caught her breath. Again she had suddenlyexperienced that unpleasant, eerie sensation--the sensation that _she wasnot alone_. But this time the feeling was far more vivid than it had beenin the dining-room. 

So strong, so definite was Sylvia's perception of another presence, andthis time of a human presence, in the still house, that she turnedsharply round--

But all she saw was the empty passage, cut by a shaft of light thrownfrom the open door of the kitchen, stretching its short length down tothe entrance hall. 

Making a determined effort over what she could but suppose to be hernerves, she walked through into the Wachners' bed-room. 

It was very bare and singularly poorly furnished, at least to Englisheyes, but it was pleasantly cool after the drawing-room. 

She walked across to the window, and, drawing aside the muslin curtains, looked out. 

Beyond the patch of shade thrown by the house the sun beat down ona ragged, unkempt lawn, but across the lawn she noticed, much moreparticularly than she had done on the two former occasions when she hadbeen in the house, that there lay a thick grove of chestnut trees justbeyond the grounds of the Châlet des Muguets. 

A hedge separated the lawn from the wood, but like everything else in thelittle property it had been neglected, and there were large gaps in it. 

She turned away from the window--

Yes, there, at last, was what she had come into this room to seek!Close to the broad, low bed was a writing-table, or, rather, a dealtable, covered with a turkey red cloth, on which lay a large sheet ofink-stained, white blotting-paper. 

Flanking the blotting-paper was a pile of Monsieur Wachner's little redbooks--the books in which he so carefully noted the turns of the game atthe Casino, and which served him as the basis of his elaborate gambling"systems. "

Sylvia went up to the writing-table, and, bending over it, began lookingfor some notepaper. But there was nothing of the sort to be seen;neither paper nor envelopes lay on the table. 

This was the more absurd, as there were several pens, and an inkpotfilled to the brim. 

She told herself that the only thing to do was to tear a blank leaf outof one of L'Ami Fritz's note-books, and on it write her message ofinvitation. If she left the little sheet of paper propped up on thedining-table, the Wachners would be sure to see it. 

She took up the newest-looking of the red note-books, and as she openedit she suddenly felt, and for the third time, that there was a livingpresence close to her--and this time that it was that of Anna Wolsky!

It was an extraordinary sensation--vivid, uncanny, terrifying--the moreso that Sylvia Bailey not only believed herself to be alone in the house, but supposed Anna to be far from Lacville. .. . 

Fortunately, this unnerving and terrifying impression of an unseen andyet real presence did not endure; and, as she focussed her eyes on theopen book she held in her hand, it became fainter and fainter, while sherealised, with a keen sense of relief, what it was that had brought thepresence of her absent friend so very near to her. 

There, actually lying open before her, between two leaves of the littlenote-book, was a letter signed by Anna Wolsky! It was a short note, inFrench, apparently an answer to one Madame Wachner had sent remindingher of her engagement. It was odd that the Wachners had said nothing ofthis note, for it made Anna's conduct seem stranger than ever. 

Opposite the page on which lay the little letter, Monsieur Wachner hadamused himself by trying to imitate Anna's angular handwriting. 

Sylvia tore out one of the blank pages, and then she put the note-bookand its enclosure back on the table. She felt vaguely touched by the factthat the Wachners had kept her friend's last letter; they alone, so shereminded herself, had been really sorry and concerned at Anna's suddendeparture from the place. They also, like Sylvia herself, had been painedthat Madame Wolsky had not cared to say good-bye to them. 

She scribbled a few lines on the scrap of paper, and then, quickly makingher way to the dining-room, she placed her unconventional invitation onthe round table, and went out into the hall. 

As she opened the front door of the Châlet des Muguets Sylvia was metby a blast of hot air. She looked out dubiously. She was thoroughlyunnerved--as she expressed it to herself, "upset. " Feeling as she nowfelt, walking back through the heat would be intolerable. 

For the first time Lacville became utterly distasteful to Sylvia Bailey. She asked herself, with a kind of surprise, of self-rebuke, why she wasthere--away from her own country and her own people? With a chokingsensation in her throat she told herself that it would be verycomfortable to see once more the tall, broad figure of Bill Chester, and to hear his good, gruff English voice again. 

She stepped out of the house, and put up her white parasol. 

It was still dreadfully hot, but to the left, across the lawn, lay thecool depths of the chestnut wood. Why not go over there and rest in theshade?

Hurrying across the scorched grass to the place where there was anopening in the rough hedge, she found herself, a moment later, plungedin the grateful green twilight created by high trees. 

It was delightfully quiet and still in the wood, and Sylvia wonderedvaguely why the Wachners never took their tea out there. But foreignersare very law-abiding, or so she supposed, and the wood, if a piece ofno-man's land, was for sale. Up a path she could see the back of a largeboard. 

It was clear that this pretty bit of woodland would have been turned intovilla plots long ago had it been nearer to a road. But it was still astretch of primeval forest. Here and there, amid the tufts of grass, laythe husks of last autumn's chestnuts. 

Sylvia slowly followed the little zigzag way which cut across the wood, and then, desiring to sit down for awhile, she struck off to the right, towards a spot where she saw that the brambles and the undergrowth hadbeen cleared away. 

Even here, where in summer the sun never penetrated, the tufts of coarsegrass were dried up by the heat. She glanced down; no, there was no fearthat the hard, dry ground would stain her pretty cotton frock. 

And then, as she sat there, Sylvia gradually became aware that close toher, where the undergrowth began again, the earth had recently beendisturbed. Over an irregular patch of about a yard square the sods hadbeen dug up, and then planted again. 

The thought passed through her mind that children must have been playingthere, and that they had made a rude attempt to destroy their handiwork, or rather to prevent its being noticed, by placing the branch of a treeacross the little plot of ground where the earth had been disturbed. Itwas this broken branch, of which the leaves had shrivelled up, that hadfirst drawn her attention to the fact that someone must have been there, and recently. 

Her thoughts wandered off to Bill Chester. He was now actually journeyingtowards her as fast as boat and train could bring him; in a couple ofhours he would be in Paris, and then, perhaps, he would come out toLacville in time for dinner. 

Sylvia had not been able to get a room for him in the Villa du Lac, butshe had engaged one in the Pension Malfait--where she had been able tosecure the apartment which had been occupied by Anna Wolsky, whose thingshad only just been moved out of it. 

She could not help being sorry that Bill would see Lacville for the firsttime on a Sunday. She feared that, to his English eyes, the place, especially on that day, would present a peculiarly--well, disreputableappearance!

Sylvia felt jealous for the good fame of Lacville. Out in the open airher spirits had recovered their balance; she told herself that she hadbeen very happy here--singularly, extraordinarily happy. .. . 

Of course it was a pity when people lost more money than they couldafford at the Casino; but even in England people betted--the poor, soshe had been told, risked all their spare pence on horse racing, and theothers, those who could afford it, went to Monte Carlo, or stayed at homeand played bridge!

After all, where was the difference? But, of course, Bill Chester, withhis tiresome, old-fashioned views of life, would think there was a greatdifference; he would certainly disapprove of the way she was now spendingher money. .. . 

Something told her, and the thought was not wholly unpleasing to her, that Bill Chester and the Comte de Virieu would not get on well together. She wondered if Count Paul had ever been jealous--if he were capable ofjealousy? It would be rather interesting to see if anything or anyonecould make him so!

And then her mind travelled on, far, far away, to a picture with whichshe had been familiar from her girlhood, for it hung in the drawing-roomof one of her father's friends at Market Dalling. It was called "TheGambler's Wife. " She had always thought it a very pretty and patheticpicture; but she no longer thought it so; in fact, it now appeared to herto be a ridiculous travesty of life. Gamblers were just like otherpeople, neither better nor worse--and often infinitely more lovablethan were some other people. .. . 

At last Sylvia got up, and slowly made her way out of the wood. She didnot go back through the Wachners' garden; instead, she struck off to theleft, on to a field path, which finally brought her to the main road. 

As she was passing the Pension Malfait the landlady came out to the gate. 

"Madame!" she cried out loudly, "I have had news of Madame Wolsky atlast! Early this afternoon I had a telegram from her asking me to sendher luggage to the cloak-room of the Gare du Nord. "

Sylvia felt very glad--glad, and yet once more, perhaps unreasonably, hurt. Then Anna had been in Paris all the time? How odd, how reallyunkind of her not to have written and relieved the anxiety which she musthave known her English friend would be feeling about her!

"I have had Madame Wolsky's room beautifully prepared for the Englishgentleman, " went on Madame Malfait amiably. She was pleased that Mrs. Bailey was giving her a new guest, and it also amused her to observewhat prudes Englishwomen could be. 

Fancy putting a man who had come all the way from England to see one, ina pension situated at the other end of the town to where one was livingoneself!

CHAPTER XIX

William Chester, solicitor, and respected citizen of Market Dalling, feltrather taken aback and bewildered as he joined the great stream of peoplewho were pouring out of the large suburban station of Lacville. 

He had only arrived in Paris two hours before, and after a hasty dinnerat the Gare du Nord he had made inquiries as to his best way of reachingLacville. And then he was told, to his surprise, that from the verystation in which he found himself trains started every few minutes tothe spot for which he was bound. 

"To-night, " added the man of whom he had inquired, "there is a fine fêteat Lacville, including fireworks on the lake!"

Chester had imagined Sylvia to be staying in a quiet village or littlecountry town. That was the impression her brief letters to him hadconveyed, and he was astonished to hear that Lacville maintained so largeand constant a train service. 

Sylvia had written that she would engage a room for him at theboarding-house where she was staying; and Chester, who was very tiredafter his long, hot journey, looked forward to a pleasant little chatwith her, followed by a good night's rest. 

It was nine o'clock when he got into the Lacville train, and again hewas vaguely surprised to see what a large number of people were bound forthe place. It was clear that something special must be going on thereto-night, and that "the fireworks on the lake" must be on a very splendidscale. 

When he arrived at Lacville, he joined the great throng of people, whowere laughing and talking, each and all in holiday mood, and hailed anopen carriage outside the station. "To the Villa du Lac!" he cried. 

The cab could only move slowly through the crowd of walkers, and whenit finally emerged out of the narrow streets of the town it stopped amoment, as if the driver wished his English fare to gaze at the beautifulpanorama spread out before his eyes. 

Dotted over the lake, large and mysterious in the starlit night, floatedinnumerable tiny crafts, each gaily hung with a string of colouredlanterns. Now and again a red and blue rocket streamed up with a hiss, dissolving in a shower of stars reflected in the still water. 

Down to the right a huge building, with towers and minarets flung upagainst the sky, was outlined in twinkling lights. 

The cab moved on, only for a few yards however, and then drove quicklythrough high gates, and stopped with a jerk in front of a stonestaircase. 

"It cannot be here, " said Chester incredulously to himself. "This looksmore like a fine private house than a small country hotel. "

"Villa du Lac?" he asked interrogatively, and the cabman said, "_Oui, M'sieur_. "

The Englishman got out of the cab, and ascending the stone steps, rangthe bell. The door opened, and a neat young woman stood before him. 

"I am come to see Mrs. Bailey, " he said in his slow, hesitating French. 

There came a torrent of words, of smiles and nods--it seemed to Chesterof excuses--in which "Madame Bailey" frequently occurred. 

He shook his head, helplessly. 

"I will call my uncle!"

The maid turned away; and Chester, with an agreeable feeling of reliefthat at last his journey was ended, took his bag off the cab, anddismissed the man. 

What a delightful, spacious house! Sylvia had not been so very foolishafter all. 

M. Polperro came forward, bowing and smiling. 

"M'sieur is the gentleman Madame Bailey has been expecting?" he said, rubbing his hands. "Oh, how sad she will be that she has already gone tothe Casino! But Madame did wait for M'sieur till half-past nine; thenshe concluded that he must mean to spend the night in Paris. "

"Do you mean that Mrs. Bailey has gone out?" asked Chester, surprised anddisappointed. 

"Yes, M'sieur. Madame has gone out, as she always does in the evening, to the Casino. It is, as M'sieur doubtless knows, the great attractionof our delightful and salubrious Lacville. "

Chester had not much sense of humour, but he could not help smiling tohimself at the other's pompous words. 

"Perhaps you will kindly show me to the room which Mrs. Bailey hasengaged for me, " he said, "and then I will go out and try and find her. "

M. Polperro burst into a torrent of agitated apologies. There was alas!no room for Madame Bailey's friend--in fact the Villa du Lac was soextraordinarily prosperous that there never was a room there from Maytill October, unless one of the guests left unexpectedly!

But Mr. Chester--was not that his name?--must not be cast down, for Mrs. Bailey had secured a beautiful room for him in another pension, a veryinferior pension to the Villa du Lac, but still one in which he would becomfortable. 

Chester now felt annoyed, and showed it. The thought of turning out againwas not a pleasant one. 

But what was this funny little Frenchman saying?

"Oh, if M'sieur had only arrived an hour ago! Madame Bailey was soterribly disappointed not to see M'sieur at dinner! A very nice specialdinner was prepared, cooked by myself, in honour of Madame Bailey'slittle party. "

And he went on to tell Chester, who was getting bewildered with thequick, eager talk, that this special dinner had been served at eighto'clock, and that Madame Bailey had entertained two friends that evening. 

"You say that Mrs. Bailey is at the Casino?"

"_Mais oui, M'sieur!_"

It had never occurred to Chester that there would be a Casino in theplace where Sylvia was spending the summer. But then everything atLacville, including the Villa du Lac, was utterly unlike what the Englishlawyer had expected it to be. 

M. Polperro spread out his hands with an eloquent gesture. "I beg ofM'sieur, " he said, "to allow me to conduct him to the Casino! MadameBailey will not be here for some time, not perhaps for one hour, perhapsfor two hours. I will have the luggage sent on to the Pension Malfait. "

Strange--very strange! At home in Market Dalling Sylvia had always beenfond of going to bed quite early; yet now, according to the hotel-keeper, she was perhaps going to stay out till one o'clock--till one o'clock onSunday morning!

M. Polperro led Chester into the stately, long drawing-room; but in avery few moments he reappeared, having taken off his white apron and hischef's cap, and put on a light grey alpaca coat and a soft hat. 

As they hurried along the path which skirts the lake, Chester began tofeel the charm of the place. It was very gay and delightful--"veryFrench, " so the English lawyer told himself. The lake, too, lookedbeautiful--mysteriously beautiful and fairy-like, in the moonlight. 

Soon they turned into a narrow dark lane. 

"This is not a grand entrance to our beautiful Casino, " said M. Polperro, ruefully, "but no matter, it is lovely once you get inside!" and hechuckled happily. 

When in front of the great glass doors, he touched Chester on the arm. 

"I wonder whether M'sieur would care to become a member of the Club, " hesaid in a low voice. "I do not press M'sieur to do so! But you see, bothMadame Bailey and her friends are members of the Club, and it is almostcertain that it is there we shall find them. I fear it is no use ourgoing to the Playing Rooms downstairs. "

The Playing Rooms? Sylvia a member of a club? And--for Chester's quick, legal mind had leapt on the fact--of a gambling club?

No, that was incredible. 

"I think there must be some mistake, " he said distantly. "I do not thinkthat Mrs. Bailey is a member of a club. "

M. Polperro looked very much surprised. 

"Oh, yes, indeed she is, " he answered confidently. "It is only the quitecommon people who content themselves, M'sieur, with risking a franc andplaying the little games. But just as M'sieur likes--" he shrugged hisshoulders. "I do not press M'sieur to become a member of the Club. "

Without answering, Chester paid the couple of francs admission forhimself and his companion, and they walked slowly through the lowerrooms, threading their way through the crowd. 

"You see, M'sieur, I was right! Madame Bailey is in the Club!"

"Very well. Let us go to the Club, " said Chester, impatiently. 

He was beginning, or so he thought, to understand. The Club was evidentlya quiet, select part of the Casino, with a reading room and so on. Sylviahad probably made friends with some French people in her hotel, and theyhad persuaded her to join the Club. 

He was beginning to throw off his tiredness; the unaccustomed atmospherein which he found himself amused and interested, even if it rathershocked him. 

Ten minutes later he also, thanks to the kind offices of M. Polperro, andby the payment of twenty francs, found himself a member of the Club; freeof that inner sanctuary where the devotees of the fickle goddess playwith gold instead of silver; and where, as even Chester could see, thepeople who stood round the table, risking with quiet, calculating eyestheir twenty-franc pieces and bank-notes, were of a very different socialstanding from the merry, careless crowd downstairs. 

In the Baccarat Room most of the men were in evening clothes, andthe women with them, if to Chester's eyes by no means desirable orreputable-looking companions, were young, pretty, and beautifullydressed. 

Still, the English lawyer felt a thrill of disgust at the thought thatSylvia Bailey could possibly be part of such a company. 

Baccarat was being played at both tables, but the crowd of playerscentred rather round one than the other, as is almost always the way. 

M. Polperro touched his companion on the arm. "And now, M'sieur, " he saidbriefly, "I will with your permission depart home. I think you will findMadame Bailey at that further table. "

Chester shook the owner of the Villa du Lac cordially by the hand. Thelittle man had been really kind and helpful. It was a pity there was novacant room in his hotel. 

He made his way to the further table, and gradually reached a point ofvantage where he could see those of the players who were seated round thegreen cloth. 

As is generally the case when really high play is going on, the peoplewho were playing, as also those watching them, were curiously quiet. 

And then, with a shock of surprise which sent the blood to his cheeks, Chester suddenly saw that Sylvia Bailey was sitting nearly opposite towhere he himself was standing. 

There are certain scenes, certain human groupings of individuals, whichremain fixed for ever against the screen of memory. Bill Chester willnever forget the sight which was presented to him in the Lacville Casinoby the particular group on which his tired eyes became focussed withgrowing amazement and attention. 

Sylvia was sitting at the baccarat table next to the man who was actingas Banker. She was evidently absorbed in the fortunes of the game, andshe followed the slow falling of the fateful cards with rather feverishintentness. 

Her small gloved hands rested on the table, one of them loosely holding atiny ivory rake; and on a bank-note spread open on the green cloth beforeher were two neat piles of gold, the one composed of twenty-franc, theother of ten-franc pieces. 

Chester, with a strange feeling of fear and anger clutching at his heart, told himself that he had never seen Sylvia look as she looked to-night. She was more than pretty--she was lovely, and above all, alive--vividlyalive. There was a bright colour on her cheek, and a soft light shiningin her eyes. 

The row of pearls which had occasioned the only serious difference whichhad ever arisen between them, rose and fell softly on the bosom of herblack lace dress. 

Chester also gradually became aware that his beautiful friend and clientformed a centre of attraction to those standing round the gambling-table. Both the men and the women stared at her, some enviously, but more withkindly admiration, for beauty is sure of its tribute in any Frenchaudience, and Sylvia Bailey to-night looked radiantly lovely--lovely andyet surely unhappy and ill-at-ease. 

Well might she look both in such a place and among such a crew! So theEnglish lawyer angrily told himself. 

Now and again she turned and spoke in an eager, intimate fashion to a mansitting next her on her left. This man, oddly enough, was not playing. 

Sylvia Bailey's companion was obviously a Frenchman, or so Chester feltsure, for now he found himself concentrating his attention on Mrs. Bailey's neighbour rather than on her. This man, to whom she kept turningand speaking in a low, earnest tone, was slim and fair, and what could beseen of his evening clothes fitted scrupulously well. The Englishman, looking at him with alien, jealous eyes, decided within himself that theFrenchman with whom Sylvia seemed to be on such friendly terms, was afoppish-looking fellow, not at all the sort of man she ought to have"picked up" on her travels. 

Suddenly Sylvia raised her head, throwing it back with a gracefulgesture, and Chester's eyes travelled on to the person who was standingjust behind her, and to whom she had now begun speaking with smilinganimation. 

This was a woman--short, stout, and swarthy--dressed in a bright purplegown, and wearing a pale blue bonnet which was singularly unbecoming toher red, massive face. Chester rather wondered that such an odd, andyes--such a respectable-looking person could be a member of this gamblingclub. She reminded him of the stout old housekeeper in a big Englishcountry house near Market Dalling. 

Sylvia seemed also to include in her talk a man who was standing next thefat woman. He was tall and lanky, absurdly and unsuitably dressed, to theEnglish onlooker, in a white alpaca suit and a shabby Panama hat. In hishand he held a little book, in which he noted down every turn of thegame, and it was clear to Chester that, though he listened to Mrs. Baileywith civility, he was quite uninterested in what she was saying. 

Very different was the attitude of the woman; she seemed absorbed inSylvia's remarks, and she leant forward familiarly, throwing all herweight on the back of the chair on which Mrs. Bailey was sitting. Sometimes as she spoke she smiled in a way that showed her large, strongteeth. 

Chester thought them both odd, common-looking people. He was surprisedthat Sylvia knew them--nay more, that she seemed on such friendly termswith them; and he noticed that the Frenchman sitting next to her--thedandyish-looking fellow to whom she had been talking just now--took nopart at all in her present conversation. Once, indeed, he looked up andfrowned, as if the chatter going on between Mrs. Bailey and her fatfriend fretted and disturbed him. 

Play had again begun in earnest, and Sylvia turned her attention to thetable. Her neighbour whispered something which at once caused her to takeup two napoleons and a ten-franc piece from the pile of gold in front ofher. Very deliberately she placed the coins within the ruled-off spacereserved for the stakes. 

Bill Chester, staring across at her, felt as if he were in anightmare--gazing at something which was not real, and which wouldvanish if looked at long enough. 

Could that lovely young woman, who sat there, looking so much at home, with the little rake in her hand be Sylvia Bailey, the quiet young widowwhose perfect propriety of conduct had always earned the praise of thosematrons of Market Dalling, whom Chester's own giddier sisters called bythe irreverent name of "old cats"? It was fortunate that none of theserespectable ladies could see Sylvia now!

To those who regard gambling as justifiable, provided the gambler'smeans allow of it, even to those who habitually see women indulging ingames of chance, there will, of course, be something absurd in the pointof view of the solicitor. But to such a man as Bill Chester, the sightof the woman for whom he had always felt a very sincere respect, as wellas a far more enduring and jealous affection than he quite realised, sitting there at a public gaming table, was a staggering--nay, adisgusting--spectacle. 

He reminded himself angrily that Sylvia had a good income--so good anincome that she very seldom spent it all in the course of any one year. Why, therefore, should she wish to increase it?

Above all, how could she bear to mingle with this queer, horrid crowd?Why should she allow herself to be contaminated by breathing the sameair as some of the women who were there round her? She and the stout, middle-aged person standing behind her were probably the only"respectable" women in the Club. 

And then, it was all so deliberate! Chester had once seen a man whom hegreatly respected drunk, and the sight had ever remained with him. But, after all, a man may get drunk by accident--nay, it may almost be saidthat a man always gets drunk by accident. But, in this matter of riskingher money at the baccarat table, Sylvia Bailey knew very well what shewas about. 

With a thrill of genuine distress the lawyer asked himself whether shehad not, in very truth, already become a confirmed gambler. It was withan assured, familiar gesture that Sylvia placed her money on the greencloth, and then with what intelligent knowledge she followed theoperations of the Banker!

He watched her when her fifty francs were swept away, and noted the calmmanner with which she immediately took five louis from her pile, andpushed them, with her little rake, well on to the table. 

But before the dealer of the cards had spoken the fateful words: "_Le jeuest fait. Rien ne va plus!_" Mrs. Bailey uttered an exclamation under herbreath, and hurriedly rose from her chair. 

She had suddenly seen Chester--seen his eyes fixed on her with aperplexed, angry look in them, and the look had made her wince. 

Forgetting that she still had a stake on the green cloth, she turned awayfrom the table and began making her way round the edge of the circle. 

For a moment Chester lost sight of her--there were so many people roundthe table. He went on staring, hardly knowing what he was doing, at thefour pounds she had left on the green cloth. 

The cards were quickly dealt, and the fateful, to Chester theincomprehensible, words were quickly uttered. Chester saw that Sylvia, unknowing of the fact, had won--that five louis were added to heroriginal stake. The fair-haired Frenchman in evening dress by whom Mrs. Bailey had been sitting looked round; not seeing her, he himself swept upthe stake and slipped the ten louis into his pocket. 

"Bill! You here? I had quite given you up! I thought you had missed thetrain--at any rate, I never thought you would come out to Lacville aslate as this. "

The bright colour, which was one of Sylvia's chief physical attributes, had faded from her cheeks. She looked pale, and her heart was beatinguncomfortably. She would have given almost anything in the world forBill Chester not to have come down to the Club and caught her likethis--"caught" was the expression poor Sylvia used to herself. 

"I am so sorry, " she went on, breathlessly, "so very sorry! What a wretchyou must have thought me! But I have got you such a nice room in apension where a friend of mine was for a time. I couldn't get youanything at the Villa du Lac. But you can have all your meals with methere. It's such good cooking, and there's a lovely garden, Bill--"

Chester said nothing. He was still looking at her, trying to readjust hisold ideas and ideals of Sylvia Bailey to her present environment. 

Sylvia suddenly grew very red. After all, Bill Chester was not herkeeper! He had no right to look as angry, as--as disgusted as he was nowdoing. 

Then there came to both a welcome diversion. 

"_Ma jolie Sylvie!_ Will you not introduce me to your friend?"

Madame Wachner had elbowed her way through the crowd to where Chester andMrs. Bailey were standing. Her husband lagged a little way behind, hiseyes still following the play. Indeed, even as his wife spoke L'Ami Fritzmade a note in the little book he held in his hand. When in the BaccaratRoom he was absolutely absorbed in the play going on. Nothing couldreally distract him from it. 

Sylvia felt and looked relieved. 

"Oh, Bill, " she exclaimed, "let me introduce you to Madame Wachner? Shehas been very kind to me since I came to Lacville. "

"I am enchanted to meet you, sir. We 'oped to see you at dinner. "

Chester bowed. She had a pleasant voice, this friend of Sylvia's, and shespoke English well, even if she did drop her aitches!

"It is getting rather late"--Chester turned to Sylvia, but he spoke quitepleasantly. 

"Yes, we must be going; are you staying on?" Sylvia was addressing thewoman she had just introduced to Chester, but her eyes were wanderingtowards the gambling table. Perhaps she had suddenly remembered her fivelouis. 

Chester smiled a little grimly to himself. He wondered if Sylvia would besurprised to hear that her neighbour, the fair Frenchman to whom she hadbeen talking so familiarly, had "collared" her stakes and her winnings. 

"No, indeed! We, too, must be going 'ome. Come, Fritz, it is gettinglate. " The devoted wife spoke rather crossly. They all four turned, andslowly walked down the room. 

Sylvia instinctively fell behind, keeping step with Monsieur Wachner, while Chester and Madame Wachner walked in front. 

The latter had already taken the measure of the quiet, stolid-lookingEnglishman. She had seen him long before Sylvia had done so, and hadwatched him with some attention, guessing almost at once that he mustbe the man for whom Mrs. Bailey had waited dinner. 

"I suppose that this is your first visit to Lacville?" she observedsmiling. "Very few of your countrymen come 'ere, sir, but it is aninteresting and curious place--more really curious than is Monte Carlo. "

She lowered her voice a little, but Chester heard her next words veryclearly. 

"It is not a proper place for our pretty friend, but--ah! she lovesplay now! The Polish lady, Madame Wolsky, was also a great lover ofbaccarat; but now she 'as gone away. And so, when Mrs. Bailey come 'ere, like this, at night, my 'usband and I--we are what you English peoplecall old-fashioned folk--we come, too. Not to play--oh, no, but, _you_understand, just to look after 'er. She is so innocent, so young, sobeautiful!"

Chester looked kindly at Madame Wachner. It was very decent ofher--really good-natured and motherly--to take such an interest in poorSylvia and her delinquencies. Yes, that was the way to take this--thismatter which so shocked him. Sylvia Bailey--lovely, wilful, spoiltSylvia--was a very young woman, and ridiculously innocent, as this oldlady truly said. 

He, Chester, knew that a great many nice people went to Monte Carlo, andspent sometimes a good deal more money than they could afford at thetables. It was absurd to be angry with Sylvia for doing here what verymany other people did in another place. He felt sincerely grateful tothis fat, vulgar looking woman for having put the case so clearly. 

"It's very good of you to do that, " he answered awkwardly; "I mean it'svery good of you to accompany Mrs. Bailey to this place, " he looked roundhim with distaste. 

They were now downstairs, part of a merry, jostling crowd, whichcontained, as all such crowds naturally contain, a rather rowdy element. "It certainly is no place for Mrs. Bailey to come to by herself--"

He was going to add something, when Sylvia walked forward. 

"Where's Count Paul?" she asked, anxiously, of Madame Wachner. "Surely hedid not stay on at the table after we left?"

Madame Wachner shook her head slightly. 

"I don't know at all, " she said, and then cast a meaning glance atChester. It was an odd look, and somehow it inspired him with a prejudiceagainst the person, this "Count Paul, " of whom Sylvia had just spoken. 

"Ah, here he is!" There was relief, nay gladness, ringing in Mrs. Bailey's frank voice. 

The Comte de Virieu was pushing his way through the slowly moving crowd. Without looking at the Wachners, he placed ten louis in Sylvia's hand. 

"Your last stake was doubled, " he said, briefly. "Then that means, doesit not, Madame, that you have made thirty-two louis this evening? Icongratulate you. "

Chester's prejudice grew, unreasonably. "Damn the fellow; then he washonest, after all! But why should he congratulate Mrs. Bailey on havingwon thirty-two louis?"

He acknowledged Sylvia's introduction of the Count very stiffly, and hewas relieved when the other turned on his heel--relieved, and yet puzzledto see how surprised Sylvia seemed to be by his departure. She actuallytried to keep the Count from going back to the Club. 

"Aren't you coming to the Villa du Lac? It's getting very late, " shesaid, in a tone of deep disappointment. 

But he, bowing, answered, "No, Madame; it is impossible. " He waited amoment, then muttered, "I have promised to take the Bank in a quarterof an hour. "

Sylvia turned away. Tears had sprung to her eyes. But Chester saw nothingof her agitation, and a moment later they were all four out in the kindlydarkness. 

CHAPTER XX

Even to Chester there was something grateful in the sudden stillness inwhich he and the three others found themselves on leaving the Casino. 

"Not a very safe issue out of a place where people carry about such a lotof money!" he exclaimed, as they made their way up the rough little lane. "One could half-throttle anyone here, and have a very good chance ofgetting off!"

"Oh, Lacville is a very safe place!" answered Madame Wachner, laughingher jovial laugh. "Still, considering all the money made by the Casino, it is too bad they 'aven't made a more splendid--what do you call it--?"

"--Approach, " said L'Ami Fritz, in his deep voice, and Chester turned, rather surprised. It was the first word he had heard Monsieur Wachnerutter. 

Sylvia was trying hard to forget Count Paul and his broken promise, andto be her natural self. 

As they emerged into the better-lighted thoroughfare, where stood a rowof carriages, she said, "I will drive with you to the Pension Malfait, Bill. "

Madame Wachner officiously struck in, "Do not think of driving yourfriend to the Pension Malfait, dear friend! We will gladly leave Mr. Chester there. But if 'e does not mind we will walk there; it is too finea night for driving. "

"But how about your luggage?" said Sylvia, anxiously. "Has your luggagegone on to the Pension?"

"Yes, " said Chester, shortly. "Your landlord very kindly said he wouldsee to its being sent on. "

They were now close to the Villa du Lac. "Of course, I shall expect youto lunch to-morrow, " said Sylvia. "Twelve o'clock is the time. You'llwant a good rest after your long day. "

And then Chester started off with his two strange companions. How veryunlike this evening had been to what he had pictured it would be! Yearsbefore, as a boy, he had spent a week at a primitive seaside hotel nearDieppe. He had thought Lacville would be like that. He had imaginedhimself arriving at a quiet, rural, little country inn, and had seenhimself kindly, if a little shyly, welcomed by Sylvia. He could almosthave laughed at the contrast between the place his fancy had painted andthe place he had found, at what he had thought would happen, and at whathad happened!

As they trudged along, Chester, glancing to his right, saw that therewere still a great many boats floating on the lake. Did Lacville folknever go to bed?

"Yes, " said Madame Wachner, quickly divining his thoughts, "some of thepeople 'ere--why, they stay out on the water all night! Then they catchthe early train back to Paris in the morning, and go and work all day. Ah, yes, it is indeed a splendid thing to be young!"

She sighed, a long, sentimental sigh, and looked across, affectionately, at L'Ami Fritz. 

"I do not feel my youth to be so very far away, " she said. "But then, thepeople in my dear country are not cynical as are the French!"

Her husband strode forward in gloomy silence, probably thinking over themoney he might have made or lost had he played that evening, instead ofonly noting down the turns of the game. 

Madame Wachner babbled on, making conversation for Chester. 

She was trying to find out something more about this quiet Englishman. Why had he come to Lacville? How long was he going to stay here? What washis real relation to Sylvia Bailey?

Those were the questions that the pretty English widow's new friendwas asking herself, finding answers thereto which were unsatisfactory, because vague and mysterious. 

At last she ventured a direct query. 

"Are you going to stay long in this beautiful place, Monsieur?"

"I don't know, " said Chester shortly. "I don't suppose I shall stay verylong. I'm going on to Switzerland. How long I stay will a little bitdepend on Mrs. Bailey's plans. I haven't had time to ask her anythingyet. What sort of a place is the Villa du Lac?"

He asked the question abruptly; he was already full of dislike andsuspicion of everything, though not of everybody, at Lacville. TheseWachners were certainly nice, simple people. 

"Oh, the Villa du Lac is a very respectable 'ouse, " said Madame Wachnercautiously. "It is full of respectable--what do you call them?--dowagers. Oh, you need have no fear for your friend, sir; she is quite safe there. And you know she does not often go to the Casino"--she told the lie withbold deliberation. Some instinct told her that while Chester was atLacville Sylvia would not go to the Casino as often as she had been inthe habit of doing. 

There was a pause--and then again Madame Wachner asked the Englishman aquestion:

"Perhaps you will go on to Switzerland, leaving Mrs. Bailey here, andthen come back for her?"

"Perhaps I shall, " he said heavily, without really thinking of what hewas saying. 

They were now walking along broad, shady roads which reminded him ofthose in a well-kept London suburb. Not a sound issued from any of thehouses which stood in gardens on either side, and in the moonlight he sawthat they were all closely shuttered. It might almost have been a littletownship of empty houses. 

Again the thought crossed his mind what a dangerous place these lonelyroads might be to a man carrying a lot of gold and notes on his person. They had not met a single policeman, or, indeed, anyone, after they hadleft the side of the lake. 

At last Madame Wachner stopped short before a large wooden door. 

'"Ere we are!" she said briskly. "I presume they are expecting you, sir?If they are not expecting you, they will probably 'ave all gone to bed. So we will wait, will we not, Ami Fritz, and see this gentleman safe in?If the worst came to the worst, you could come with us to our villa andsleep there the night. "

"You are awfully kind!" said Chester heartily--and, indeed, he did feelthis entire stranger's kindness exceptional. 

How fortunate that Sylvia had come across such a nice, simple, kindlywoman in such a queer place as Lacville!

But Madame Wachner's good-natured proposal had never to be seriouslyconsidered, for when her vigorous hand found and pulled the bell therecame sounds in the courtyard beyond, and a moment later the door swungopen. 

"Who's there?" cried M. Malfait in a loud voice. 

"It is the English gentleman, Mrs. Bailey's friend, " said Madame Wachnerquickly; and at once the Frenchman's voice softened. 

"Ah! we had quite given up M'sieur, " he said amiably. "Come in, come in!Yes, the bag has arrived; but people often send their luggage before theycome themselves. Just as they sometimes leave their luggage after theythemselves have departed!"

Chester was shaking hands cordially with the Wachners. 

"Thank you for all your kindness, " he said heartily. "I hope we shallmeet again soon! I shall certainly be here for some days. Perhaps youwill allow me to call on you?"

Once the good-natured couple had walked off arm in arm into the night, the door of the Pension Malfait was locked and barred, and Chesterfollowed his landlord into the long, dark house. 

"One has to be careful. There are so many queer characters about, " saidM. Malfait; and then, "Will M'sieur have something to eat? A littlerefreshment, a bottle of lemonade, or of pale ale? We have splendidBass's ale, " he said, solicitously. 

But the Englishman shook his head, smiling. "Oh, no, " he said slowly, inhis bad French, "I dined in Paris. All I need now is a good night'srest. "

"And that M'sieur will certainly have, " said the landlord civilly. "Lacville is famous for its sleep-producing qualities. That is why somany Parisians content themselves with coming here instead of goingfurther afield. "

They were walking through the lower part of the house, and then suddenlyM. Malfait exclaimed, "I was forgetting the bath-room! I know howimportant to English gentlemen the bath-room is!"

The pleasant vista of a good hot bath floated before Chester's wearybrain and body. Really the house was not as primitive as he had thoughtit when he had seen the landlord come forward with a candle. 

M. Malfait turned round and flung open a door. 

"It was an idea of my wife's, " he said proudly. "You see, M'sieur, theapartment serves a double purpose--"

And it did! For the odd little room into which Chester was shown by hishost served as store cupboard as well as bath-room. It was lined withshelves on which stood serried rows of pots of home-made jam, jars of oiland vinegar, and huge tins of rice, vermicelli, and tapioca, in a cornera round zinc basin--but a basin of Brobdignagian size--stood under a coldwater tap. 

"The bath is for those of our visitors who do not follow the regularhydropathic treatment for which Lacville is still famous, " said thelandlord pompously. "But I must ask M'sieur not to fill the bath toofull, for it is a great affair to empty it!"

He shut the door carefully, and led the way upstairs. 

"Here we are, " he whispered at last. "I hope M'sieur will be satisfied. This is a room which was occupied by a charming Polish lady, MadameWolsky, who was a friend of M'sieur's friend, Madame Bailey. But she leftsuddenly a week ago, and so we have the room at M'sieur's disposal. "

He put the candle down, and bowed himself out of the room. 

Chester looked round the large, bare sleeping chamber in which he foundhimself with the agreeable feeling that his long, hot, exciting day wasnow at an end. 

Yes, it was a pleasant room--bare, and yet furnished with everythingessential to comfort. Thus there was a good big, roomy arm-chair, awriting-table, and a clock, of which the hands now pointed to a quarterto one o'clock. 

The broad, low bed, pushed back into an alcove as is the French fashion, looked delightfully cool and inviting by the light of his one candle. 

When M. Malfait had shown him into the room the window was wide open tothe hot, starless night, but the landlord, though he had left the windowopen, had drawn the thick curtains across it. That was all right; Chesterhad no wish to be wakened at five in the morning by the sunlightstreaming into the room. He meant to have a really long rest. He wastoo tired to think--too tired to do anything but turn in. 

And then an odd thing happened. Chester's brain was so thoroughly awake, he had become so over-excited, that he could not, try as he might, fallasleep. 

He lay awake tossing about hour after hour. And then, when at last he didfall into a heavy, troubled slumber, he was disturbed by extraordinaryand unpleasant dreams--nightmares in which Sylvia Bailey seemed to playa part. 

At last he roused himself and pulled back the curtains from across thewindow. It was already dawn, but he thought the cool morning air mightinduce sleep, and for a while, lying on his side away from the light, hedid doze lightly. 

Quite suddenly he was awakened by the sensation, nay, the knowledge, thatthere was someone in the room! So vivid was this feeling of unwished-forcompanionship that he got up and looked in the shadowed recess of thealcove in which stood his bed; but, of course, there was no one there. In fact there would not have been space there for any grown-up person tosqueeze into. 

He told himself that what he had heard--if he had heard anything--wassomeone bringing him his coffee and rolls, and that the servant hadprobably been trying to attract his attention, for, following his prudentcustom, he had locked his door the night before. 

He unlocked the door and looked out, staring this way and that along theempty passage. But no, in spite of the now-risen sun, it was still earlymorning; the Pension Malfait was sunk in sleep. 

Chester went back to bed. He felt tired, disturbed, uneasy; sleep was outof the question; so he lay back, and with widely-open eyes, began tothink of Sylvia Bailey and of the strange events of the night before. 

He lived again the long hour he had spent at the Casino. He could almostsmell the odd, sweet, stuffy smell of the Baccarat Room, and there rosebefore him its queer, varied inmates. He visioned distinctly SylviaBailey as he had suddenly seen her, sitting before the green cloth, with her money piled up before her, and a look of eager interest andabsorption on her face. 

There had always been in Sylvia something a little rebellious, a touch ofindividuality which made her unlike the other women he knew, and whichfascinated and attracted him. She was a woman who generally knew her ownmind, and who had her own ideas of right and wrong. Lying there, heremembered how determined she had been about those pearls. .. . 

Chester's thoughts took a softer turn. How very, very pretty she hadlooked last evening--more than pretty--lovelier than he had ever seenher. There seemed to be new depths in her blue eyes. 

But Chester was shrewd enough to know that Sylvia had felt ashamed to becaught by him gambling--gambling, too, in such very mixed company. Well, she would soon be leaving Lacville! What a pity those friends of hers hadgiven up their Swiss holiday! It would have been so jolly if they couldhave gone on there together. 

He got tired of lying in bed. What a long night, as well as a veryshort night, it had been! He rose and made his way down to the primitivebath-room. It would be delightful to have any sort of bath, and the hugezinc basin had its points--

As Chester went quickly back to his room, instead of feeling refreshedafter his bath, he again experienced the disagreeable sensation that hewas not alone. This time he felt as if he were being accompanied by aninvisible presence. It was a very extraordinary and a most unpleasantfeeling, one which Chester had never experienced before, and it made himafraid--afraid he knew not of what. 

Being the manner of man he was, he began to think that he must beill--that there must be something the matter with his nerves. Had he beenat home, in Market Dalling, he would have gone to a doctor without lossof time. 

Long afterwards, when people used to speak before him of haunted houses, Bill Chester would remember the Pension Malfait and the extraordinarysensations he had experienced there--sensations the more extraordinarythat there was nothing to account for them. 

But Chester never told anyone of his experiences, and indeed there wasnothing to tell. He never saw anything, he never even heard anything, butnow and again, especially when he was lying awake at night and in theearly morning, the lawyer felt as if some other entity was struggling tocommunicate with him and could not do so. .. . 

The whole time he was there--and he stayed on at Lacville, as we shallsee, rather longer than he at first intended--Chester never felt, when inhis room at the Pension Malfait really alone, and sometimes theimpression became almost intolerably vivid. 

CHAPTER XXI

But the longest night, the most haunted night, and Chester's night hadindeed been haunted, comes to an end at last. After he had had anotherbath and a good breakfast he felt a very different man to what he haddone three of four hours ago, lying awake in the sinister, companionedatmosphere of his bed-room at the Pension Malfait. 

Telling his courteous landlord that he would not be in to luncheon, Chester left the house, and as it was still far too early to seek outSylvia, he struck out, with the aid of the little pocket-map of theenvirons of Paris with which he had been careful to provide himself, towards the open country. 

And as he swung quickly along, feeling once more tired and depressed, theEnglishman wondered more and more why Sylvia Bailey cared to stay in sucha place as Lacville. It struck him as neither town nor country--more likean unfinished suburb than anything else, with almost every piece of spareland up for sale. 

He walked on and on till at last he came to the edge of a great stretchof what looked like primeval woodland. This surely must be part of thefamous Forest of Montmorency, which his guide-book mentioned as beingthe great attraction of Lacville? He wondered cynically whether Sylviahad ever been so far, and then he plunged into the wood, along one of theordered alleys which to his English eyes looked so little forest-like, and yet which made walking there very pleasant. 

Suddenly there fell on his ear the sound of horses trotting quickly. Helooked round, and some hundred yards or so to his right, at a place wherefour roads met under high arching trees, he saw two riders, a man and awoman, pass by. They had checked their horses to a walk, and as theirvoices floated over to him, the woman's voice seemed extraordinarily, almost absurdly, familiar--in fact, he could have sworn it was SylviaBailey's voice. 

Chester stopped in his walk and shrugged his shoulders impatiently. Shemust indeed be dwelling in his thoughts if he thus involuntarily evokedher presence where she could by no stretch of possibility be. 

But that wandering echo brought Sylvia Bailey very near to Chester, andonce more he recalled her as he had seen her sitting at the gamblingtable the night before. 

In grotesque juxtaposition he remembered, together with that picture ofSylvia as he had seen her last night, the case of a respectable old lady, named Mrs. Meeks, the widow of a clergyman who had had a living in thevicinity of Market Dalling. 

Not long after her husband's death this old lady--she had about threehundred a year, and Chester had charge of her money matters--went abroadfor a few weeks to Mentone. Those few weeks had turned Mrs. Meeks intoa confirmed gambler. She now lived entirely at Monte Carlo in one smallroom. 

He could not help remembering now the kind of remarks that were made bythe more prosperous inhabitants of Market Dalling, his fellow citizens, when they went off for a short holiday to the South, in January orFebruary. They would see this poor lady, this Mrs. Meeks, wandering roundthe gaming tables, and the sight would amuse and shock them. Chester knewthat one of the first things said to him after the return of such peoplewould be, "Who d'you think I saw at Monte Carlo? Why, Mrs. Meeks, ofcourse! It's enough to make her husband turn in his grave. "

And now he told himself ruefully that it would be enough to make honestGeorge Bailey turn in his grave could he see his pretty, sheltered Sylviasitting in the Casino at Lacville, surrounded by the riffraff collectedthere last night, and actually taking an active part in the game as wellas risking her money with business-like intentness. 

He wondered if he could persuade Sylvia to leave Lacville soon. In anycase he would himself stay on here three or four days--he had meant onlyto stay twenty-four hours, for he was on his way to join a friend whoseSwiss holiday was limited. The sensible thing for Sylvia to do would beto go back to England. 

 * * * * *

Chester reached the Villa du Lac at half-past eleven and as he went outinto the charming garden where he was told he would find Mrs. Bailey hetold himself that Lacville was not without some innocent attractions. ButMrs. Bailey was not alone in this lovely garden. Sitting on the lawn byher was the Frenchman who had been with her when Chester had first caughtsight of her at the Casino the night before. 

The two were talking so earnestly that they only became aware of hisapproach when he was close to them, and though Chester was not aparticularly observant man, he had an instant and most unpleasantimpression that he had come too soon; that Sylvia was not glad to seehim; and that the Frenchman was actually annoyed, even angered, by hissudden appearance. 

"We might begin lunch a little earlier than twelve o'clock, " said Sylvia, getting up. "They serve lunch from half-past eleven, do they not?" sheturned to the Comte de Virieu. 

"Yes, Madame, that is so, " he said; and then he added, bowing, "And nowperhaps I should say good-bye. I am going into Paris, as you know, earlythis afternoon, and then to Brittany. I shall be away two nights. "

"You will remember me to your sister, to--to the Duchesse, " falteredSylvia. 

Chester looked at her sharply. This Frenchman's sister? TheDuchesse?--how very intimate Sylvia seemed to be with the fellow!

As the Count turned and sauntered back to the house she said ratherbreathlessly, "The Comte de Virieu has been very kind to me, Bill. He took me intoParis to see his sister; she is the Duchesse d'Eglemont. You willremember that the Duc d'Eglemont won the Derby two years ago?"

And as he made no answer she went on, as if on the defensive. 

"The Comte de Virieu has to go away to the funeral of his godmother. I amsorry, for I should have liked you to have become friends with him. Hewas at school in England--that is why he speaks English so well. "

While they were enjoying the excellent luncheon prepared for them by M. Polperro, Chester was uncomfortably aware that the Count, sitting at hissolitary meal at another table, could, should he care to do so, overhearevery word the other two were saying. 

But Paul de Virieu did not look across or talk as an Englishman wouldprobably have done had he been on familiar terms with a fellow-guest inan hotel. Instead he devoted himself, in the intervals of the meal, toreading a paper. But now and again Chester, glancing across, could seethe other man's eyes fixed on himself with a penetrating, thoughtfullook. What did this Frenchman mean by staring at him like that?

As for Sylvia, she was obviously ill at ease. She talked quickly, ratherdisconnectedly, of the many things appertaining to her life at home, inMarket Dalling, which she had in common with the English lawyer. She onlytouched on the delightful time she had had in Paris, and she said nothingof Lacville. 

Long before the others had finished, Count Paul got up; before leavingthe dining-room, he turned and bowed ceremoniously to Sylvia and hercompanion. With his disappearance it seemed to Chester that Sylvia atonce became her natural, simple, eager, happy self. She talked less, shelistened more, and at last Chester began to enjoy his holiday. 

They went out again into the garden, and the wide lawn, with its shadedspaces of deep green, was a delicious place in which to spend a quiet, idle hour. They sat down and drank their coffee under one of the cedarsof Lebanon. 

"This is a very delightful, curious kind of hotel, " he said at last. "AndI confess that now I understand why you like Lacville. But I do wonder alittle, Sylvia"--he looked at her gravely--"that you enjoy going to thatCasino. "

"You see, there's so very little else to do here!" she exclaimed, deprecatingly. "And then, after all, Bill, I don't see what harm thereis in risking one's money if one can afford to do so!"

He shook his head at her--playfully, but seriously too. "Don't you?" heasked dryly. 

"Why, there's Madame Wachner, " said Sylvia suddenly, and Chester thoughtthere was a little touch of relief in her voice. 

"Madame Wachner?" And then the Englishman, gazing at the stout, squatfigure which was waddling along the grass towards them, remembered. 

This was the good lady who had been so kind to him the night before; nay, who had actually offered to give him a bed if the Pension Malfait hadbeen closed. 

"We 'ave lunched in the town, " she said, partly addressing Chester, "andso I thought I would come and ask you, Madame Sylvia, whether you andyour friend will come to tea at the Villa des Muguets to-day?" She fixedher bright little eyes on Sylvia's face. 

Sylvia looked at Chester; she was smiling; he thought she would like himto accept. 

"That is very kind of you, " he said cordially. 

Sylvia nodded her head gaily: "You are more than kind, dear MadameWachner, " she exclaimed. "We shall be delighted to come! I thought oftaking Mr. Chester a drive through the Forest of Montmorency. Will it doif we are with you about five?"

"Yes, " said Madame Wachner. 

And then, to Chester's satisfaction, she turned and went away. "I cannotstay now, " she said, "for l'Ami Fritz is waiting for me. 'E does not liketo be kept waiting. "

"What a nice woman!" said Chester heartily, "and how lucky you are, Sylvia, to have made her acquaintance in such a queer place as this. ButI suppose you have got to know quite a number of people in the hotel?"

"Well, no--, " she stopped abruptly. She certainly had come to know theComte de Virieu, but he was the exception, not the rule. 

"You see, Bill, Lacville is the sort of place where everyone thinkseveryone else rather queer! I fancy some of the ladies here--they aremostly foreigners, Russians, and Germans--think it very odd that I shouldbe by myself in such a place. "

She spoke without thinking--in fact she uttered her thoughts aloud. 

"Then you admit that it _is_ rather a queer place for you to be stayingin by yourself, " he said slowly. 

"No, I don't!" she protested eagerly. "But don't let's talk ofdisagreeable things--I'm going to take you such a splendid drive!"

 * * * * *

Chester never forgot that first day of his at Lacville. It was by far thepleasantest day he spent there, and Sylvia Bailey, woman-like, managedentirely to conceal from him that she was not as pleased with theirexpedition as was her companion. 

Thanks to M. Polperro's good offices, they managed to hire a really goodmotor; and once clear of the fantastic little houses and the waste groundwhich was all up for sale, how old-world and beautiful were the littlehamlets, the remote stretches of woodland and the quiet country townsthrough which they sped!

On their way back, something said by Sylvia surprised and disturbedChester very much. She had meant to conceal the fact that she was ridingwith Paul de Virieu each morning, but it is very difficult for oneaccustomed always to tell the truth to use deceit. And suddenly acareless word revealed to Chester that the horsewoman whose voice hadsounded so oddly familiar to him in the Forest that morning had reallybeen Sylvia herself!

He turned on her quickly: "Then do you ride every morning with thisFrenchman?" he asked quietly. 

"Almost every morning, " she answered. "His sister lent me a horse and ariding habit. It was very kind of her, " she raised her voice, and blusheddeeply in the rushing wind. 

Chester felt his mind suddenly fill with angry suspicion. Was it possiblethat this Comte de Virieu, this man of whom that nice Madame Wachner hadspoken with such scorn as a confirmed gambler, was "making up" to Sylvia?It was a monstrous idea--but Chester, being a solicitor, knew only toowell that in the matter of marriage the most monstrous and disastrousthings are not only always possible but sometimes probable. Chesterbelieved that all Frenchmen regard marriage as a matter of business. Tosuch a man as this Count, Mrs. Bailey's fortune would be a godsend. 

"Sylvia!" he exclaimed, in a low, stern voice. 

He turned round and looked at her. She was staring straight before her;the colour had faded from her cheek; she looked pale and tired. 

"Sylvia!" he repeated. "Listen to me, and--and don't be offended. "

She glanced quickly at the man sitting by her side. His voice was chargedwith emotion, with anger. 

"Don't be angry with me, " he repeated. "If my suspicion, my fear, isunfounded, I beg your pardon with all my heart. "

Sylvia got up and touched the driver on the shoulder. "Please slow down, "she said in French, "we are going faster than I like. "

Then she sank back in her seat. "Yes, Bill! What is it you wish to askme? I couldn't hear you properly. We were going too fast. "

"Is it possible, is it conceivable, that you are thinking of marryingthis Frenchman?"

"No, " said Sylvia, very quietly, "I am not thinking of marrying the Comtede Virieu. But he is my friend. I--I like and respect him. No, Bill, youneed not fear that the Comte de Virieu will ever ask me to become hiswife. "

"But if he did?" asked Chester, hoarsely. 

"You have no right to ask me such a question, " she answered, passionately; and then, after a pause, she added, in a low voice: "Butif he did, I should say no, Bill. "

Her eyes were full of tears. As for Chester, he felt a variety ofconflicting emotions, of which perhaps the strongest was a determinationthat if he could not get her no one else should do so. This--this damnedFrench gambler had touched Sylvia's kind heart. Surely she couldn't carefor a man she had only known a month, and such an affected, dandifiedfellow, too?

It was with relief that they both became aware a few moments later thatthey were on the outskirts of Lacville. 

"Here is the Châlet des Muguets!" exclaimed Sylvia. "Isn't it a funnylittle place?"

The English lawyer stared at the bright pink building; with curiosity andamusement. It was indeed a funny little place, this brick-built bungalow, so fantastically and, to his British eyes, so ridiculously decorated withblue china lozenges, on which were painted giant lilies of the valley. 

But he had not long to look, for as the car drew up before the white gateMadame Wachner's short, broad figure came hurrying down the path. 

She opened the gate, and with boisterous heartiness welcomed Chester andSylvia into the neglected garden. 

Chester looked round him with an involuntary surprise. The Wachners' homewas entirely unlike what he had expected to find it. He had thought tosee one of those trim, neat little villas surrounded by gay, exquisitelytended little gardens which are the pride of the Parisian suburbandweller. 

Madame Wachner caught his glance, and the thought crossed her minduncomfortably that she had perhaps made a mistake, a serious mistake, inasking this priggish-looking Englishman to come to the Châlet desMuguets. He evidently did not like the look of the place. 

"You wonder to see our garden so untidy, " she exclaimed, regretfully. "Well, it is the owner's fault, not ours! You would not believe such athing of a Frenchman, but 'e actually made us promise that we would donothing--no, nothing at all, to 'is garden. 'E spoke of sending a manonce a week to see after it, but no, 'e never did so. "

"I have often wondered, " broke in Sylvia frankly, "why you allowed yourgarden to get into such a state, but now, of course, I understand. What avery odd person your landlord must be, Madame Wachner! It might be such adelightful place if kept in good order. But I'm glad you have had thegrass cut. I remember the first time I came here the grass wastremendously high, both in front and behind the house. Yesterday Isaw that you have had it cut. "

"Yes, " said Madame Wachner, glancing at her, "yes, we had the grass cut afew days ago. Fritz insisted on it. "

"If it had been as high as it was the first time I came here, I couldnever have made my way through it to the delightful little wood that liesover there, behind the châlet, " went on Sylvia. "I don't think I told youthat I went over there yesterday and waited a while, hoping that youwould come back. "

"You went into the wood!" echoed Madame Wachner in a startled tone. "Youshould not have done that, " she shook her head gravely. "We are forbiddento go into the wood. We 'ave never gone into the wood. "

L'Ami Fritz stood waiting for his visitors in the narrow doorway. Helooked more good-tempered than usual, and as they walked in he chattedpleasantly to Chester. 

"This way, " he said, importantly. "Do not trouble to go into the salon, Madame! We shall have tea here, of course. "

And Sylvia Bailey was amused, as well as rather touched, to see thepreparations which had been made in the little dining-room for theentertainment of Bill Chester and of herself. 

In the middle of the round table which had looked so bare yesterday wasa bowl of white roses--roses that had never grown in the untidy gardenoutside. Two dessert dishes were heaped up with delicious cakes--thecakes for which French pastrycooks are justly famed. There was also abasin full of the Alpine strawberries which Sylvia loved, and of whichshe always ordered a goodly supply at the Villa du Lac. Madame Wachnerhad even remembered to provide the thick cream, which, to a foreigntaste, spoils the delicate flavour of strawberries. 

They were really very kind people, these Wachners!

Looking round the funny little dining-room, Sylvia could not helpremembering how uncomfortable she had felt when sitting there alone theday before. It was hard now to believe that she should have had thatqueer, eerie feeling of discomfort and disquietude in such a commonplace, cheerful room. She told herself that there probably had been some littlecreature hidden there--some shy, wild thing, which maybe had crept in outof the wood. 

"And now I will go and make the tea, " said Madame Wachner pleasantly, andSylvia gaily insisted on accompanying her hostess into the kitchen. 

"We shall 'ave a nicer tea than that first time we made tea 'eretogether, " said Madame Wachner jovially. 

The young Englishwoman shook her head, smiling. 

"I had a very good time that afternoon!" she cried. "And I shall alwaysfeel grateful for your kindness to me and to poor Anna, Madame Wachner. I do so often wonder what Anna is doing with herself, and where she isstaying in Paris. " She looked wistfully at her companion. 

Madame Wachner was in the act of pouring the boiling water into her chinateapot. 

"Ah, well, " she said, bending over it, "we shall never know that. Yourfriend was a strange person, what I call a _solitaire_. She did not likegambling when there were people whom she knew in the Baccarat Room withher. As to what she is doing now--" she shrugged her shoulders, expressively. 

"You know she telegraphed for her luggage yesterday?" said Sylvia slowly. 

"In that case--if it has had time to arrive--Madame Wolsky is probably onher way to Aix, perhaps even to Monte Carlo. She did not seem to mindwhether it was hot or cold if she could get what she wanted--that is, Play--"

Madame Wachner had now made the tea. She turned and stood with armsakimbo, staring out of the little window which gave on the sun-baked lawnbounded by the chestnut wood. 

"No, " she said slowly, "I do not for a moment suppose that you will eversee Madame Wolsky again. It would surprise me very much if you were to doso. For one thing, she must be--well, rather ashamed of the way shetreated you--you who were so kind to her, Sylvie!"

"She was far kinder to me than I was to her, " said Sylvia in a low voice. 

"Ah, my dear"--Madame Wachner put her fat hand on Sylvia'sshoulder--"you have such a kind, warm, generous heart--that is the truth!No, no, Anna Wolsky was not able to appreciate such a friend as you are!But now the tea is made, made strong to the English taste, we must notleave L'Ami Fritz and Mr. Chester alone together. Gentleman are dullwithout ladies. "

Carrying the teapot she led the way into the dining-room, and they satdown round the table. 

The little tea-party went off fairly well, but Chester could not forgethis strange conversation with Sylvia in the motor. Somehow, he and shehad never come so really near to one another as they had done thatafternoon. And yet, on the other hand, he felt that she was quite unlikewhat he had thought her to be. It was as if he had come across a newSylvia. 

Madame Wachner, looking at his grave, absorbed face, felt uneasy. Was itpossible that this Englishman intended to take pretty Mrs. Bailey awayfrom Lacville? That would be a pity--a very great pity!

She glanced apprehensively at her husband. L'Ami Fritz would make himselfvery unpleasant if Sylvia left Lacville just now. He would certainlytaunt his wife with all the money they had spent on her entertainment--itwas money which they both intended should bear a very high rate ofinterest. 

CHAPTER XXII

The two following days dragged themselves uneventfully away. Sylvia didher best to be kind to Bill Chester, but she felt ill at ease, and couldnot help showing it. 

And then she missed the excitement and interest of the Casino. Bill hadnot suggested that they should go there, and she would not be the one todo so. 

The long motoring expeditions they took each afternoon gave her nopleasure. Her heart was far away, in Brittany; in imagination she wasstanding by a grave surrounded by a shadowy group of men and women, mourning the old Marquise who had left Count Paul the means to becomeonce more a self-respecting and respected member of the world to which hebelonged by right of birth. .. . 

Had it not been for the Wachners, these two days of dual solitude withChester would have been dreary indeed, but Madame Wachner was theircompanion on more than one long excursion and wherever Madame Wachnerwent there reigned a kind of jollity and sense of cheer. 

Sylvia wondered if the Comte de Virieu was indeed coming back as he hadsaid he would do. And yet she knew that were he to return now, at once, to his old ways, his family, those who loved him, would have the right tothink him incorrigible. 

As is the way with a woman when she loves, Sylvia did not considerherself as a factor affecting his return to Lacville. Nay, she wasbitterly hurt that he had not written her a line since he had left. 

And now had come the evening of the day when Count Paul had meant to comeback. But M. Polperro said no word of his return. Still, it was quitepossible that he would arrive late, and Sylvia did not wish to see himwhen in the company, not only of Bill Chester, but also of the Wachners. 

Somehow or other, she had fallen into the habit each evening of askingthe Wachners to dinner. She did so to-day, but suggested dining at arestaurant. 

"Yes, if this time, dear Sylvia, the host is L'Ami Fritz!" said MadameWachner decidedly. And after a slight demur Sylvia consented. 

They dined at the hotel which is just opposite the Casino. After thepleasant meal was over, for it had been pleasant, and the cheerfulhostess had taken special pains over the menu, Sylvia weary at thethought of another long, dull evening in the drawing-room of the Villadu Lac, was secretly pleased to hear Madame Wachner exclaim coaxingly:

"And now, I do 'ope, Mr. Chester, that you will come over and spend thisevening at the Casino! I know you do not approve of the play that goes onthere, but still, believe me, it is the only thing to do at Lacville. Lacville would be a very dull place were it not for the Casino!"

Chester smiled. 

"You think me far more particular than I am really, " he said, lightly. "I don't in the least mind going to the Casino. " Why should he be aspoil-sport? "But I confess I cannot understand the kind of attractionplay has for some minds. For instance, I cannot understand theextraordinary fascination it seems to exercise over such an intelligentman as is that Comte de Virieu. "

Madame Wachner looked at the speaker significantly. 

"Ah!" she said. "The poor Count! 'E is what you call 'confirmed'--aconfirmed gambler. And 'e will now be able to play more than ever, forI 'ear a fortune 'as been left to 'im!"

Sylvia was startled. She wondered how the Wachners could have come toknow of the Count's legacy. She got up, with a nervous, impatientgesture. 

How dull, how long, how intolerable had been the last two days spent byher in the company of Bill Chester, varied by that of talkative MadameWachner and the silent, dour Ami Fritz!

Her heart felt very sore. During that last hour she and Count Paul hadspent together in the garden, she had begged him to stay away--to spendthe rest of the summer with his sister. Supposing he took her at herword--supposing he never came back to Lacville at all? Sylvia tried totell herself that in that case she would be glad, and that she onlywanted her friend to do the best, the wisest thing for himself. 

Such were her thoughts--her painful thoughts--as she walked across fromthe restaurant to the entrance of the Casino. Two whole days had gone bysince she had been there last, and oh! how long each hour of those dayshad seemed!

The two oddly-assorted couples passed through into the hall, and so up tothe closely-guarded doors of the Club. 

The Baccarat Room was very full, fuller than usual, for several partiesof merry, rather boisterous young men had come out from Paris to spendthe evening. 

She heard the words that were now so familiar, solemnly shouted out atthe further table: "_La Banque est aux enchères. Qui prend la Banque?_"

There was a pause, and there fell on Sylvia's ears the murmur of twovoices--the voice of the official who represented the Casino authorities, and the deep, low voice which had become so dear to her--which thrilledher heart each time she heard it. 

Then Count Paul had come back? He had not followed her advice? Andinstead of being sorry, as she ought to have been, she was glad--glad!Not glad to know that he was here in the Casino--Sylvia was sorry forthat--but glad that he was once more close to her. Till this moment shehad scarcely realised how much his mere presence meant to her. 

She could not see Paul de Virieu, for there was a crowd--a noisy, chattering crowd of over-dressed men, each with a gaudily-dressedfeminine companion--encompassing her on every side. 

"_Vingt mille francs en Banque! Une fois, deux fois, messieurs?_" Apause--then the words repeated. "_Vingt mille francs en Banque!_"

Monsieur Wachner leant his tall, lean form over Sylvia. She looked upsurprised, L'Ami Fritz very seldom spoke to her, or for the matter ofthat to anyone. 

"You must play to-night, Madame!" he said imperiously. "I have a feelingthat to-night you will bring us luck, as you did that first time youplayed. "

She looked at him hesitatingly. His words made her remember the friend towhom she so seldom gave a thought nowadays. 

"Do you remember how pleased poor Anna was that night?" she whispered. 

Monsieur Wachner stared at her, and a look of fear, almost of terror, came over his drawn, hatchet face. 

"Do not speak of her, " he exclaimed harshly. "It might bring usill-luck!"

And then Chester broke in, "Sylvia, do play if you want to play!" hecried rather impatiently. It angered him to feel that she would not do inhis presence what she would most certainly have done were he not there. 

And then Sylvia suddenly made up her mind that she would play. Count Paulwas holding the Bank. He was risking--how much was it?--twenty thousandfrancs. Eight hundred pounds of his legacy? That was madness, absolutemadness on his part! Well, she would gamble too! There came across her acurious feeling--one that gave her a certain painful joy--the feelingthat they two were one. While he was risking his money, she would try towin his money. Were he in luck to-night, she would be glad to know thatit would be her money he would win. 

M. Wachner officiously made room for her at the table; and, as she satdown, the Comte de Virieu, looking round, saw who had come there, and heflushed 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 thefair young Englishwoman. 

Sylvia took up the two cards. She glanced down at them. Yes, L'Ami Fritzhad been right. She was in luck to-night! In a low voice she uttered thewelcome words--in French, of course--the words "Nine" and "The King, " asshe put the cards, face upwards, on the green cloth. 

And then there came for her and for those who backed her, just as therehad done on that first fateful evening at the Casino, an extraordinaryrun of good fortune. 

Again and again the cards were dealt to Sylvia, and again and again sheturned up a Nine, a Queen, a King, an Eight--. Once more the crowdexcitedly followed her luck, staring at her with grateful pleasure, withfascinated interest, as she brought them temporary wealth. 

The more she won, the more she made other people win, the more miserableSylvia felt, and as she saw Count Paul's heap of notes and golddiminishing, she grew unutterably wretched. Eight hundred pounds? Whatan enormous lot of money to risk in an evening!

Then there came a change. For a few turns of the game luck deserted her, and Sylvia breathed more freely. She glanced up into Count Paul'simpassive face. He looked worn and tired, as well he might be after hislong journey from Brittany. 

Then once more magic fortune came back. It seemed as if only goodcards--variations on the fateful eights and nines--could be dealt her. 

Suddenly she pushed her chair back and got up. Protesting murmurs rose onevery side. 

"If Madame leaves, the luck will go with her!" she heard one or twopeople murmur discontentedly. 

Chester was looking at her with amused, sarcastic, disapproving eyes. 

"Well!" he exclaimed. "I don't wonder you enjoy gambling, Sylvia! Are youoften taken this way? How much of that poor fellow's money have you won?"

"Ninety pounds, " she answered mechanically. 

"Ninety pounds! And have you ever lost as much as that, may I ask, in anevening?" he was still speaking with a good deal of sarcasm in his voice. But still, "money talks, " and even against his will Chester wasimpressed. Ninety pounds represents a very heavy bill of costs in acountry solicitor's practice. 

Sylvia looked dully into his face. 

"No, " she said slowly. "No, the most I ever lost in one evening was tenpounds. I always left off playing when I had lost ten pounds. That is theone advantage the player has over the banker--he can stop playing when hehas lost a small sum. "

"Oh! I see!" exclaimed Chester drily. 

And then they became silent, for close by where they now stood, a littleapart from the table, an angry altercation was going on between Monsieurand Madame Wachner. It was the first time Sylvia had ever heard theworthy couple quarrelling in public the one with the other. 

"I tell you I will _not_ go away!" L'Ami Fritz was saying between histeeth. "I feel that to-night I am in luck, in great luck! What I ask youto do, Sophie, is to go away yourself, and leave me alone. I have made athousand francs this evening, and at last I have an opportunity of tryingmy new system. I am determined to try it now, to-night! No--it is no useyour speaking to me, no use reminding me of any promise I made to you. IfI made such a promise, I mean to break it!"

Sylvia looked round, a good deal concerned. Madame Wachner's face wasred, and she was plainly very angry and put out. But when she saw thatshe and her husband had attracted the attention of their English friends, she made a great effort to regain her self-control and good humour. 

"Very well, " she said, "Very well, Fritz! Do not speak to me as if I werean ogress or a dragon. I am your wife; it is my duty to obey you. But Iwill not stay to see you lose the good money you have made with the helpof our kind friend, Madame Sylvia. Yes, I will go away and leave you, mypoor Fritz. "

And suiting her action to her words, she put her arm familiarly throughSylvia's and together they walked out of the Baccarat Room, followed byChester. 

When they were in the vestibule Madame Wachner turned to him with arueful smile:

"It is a pity, " she said, "that Fritz did not come away with us! 'E 'asmade a thousand francs. It is a great deal of money for us to make--or tolose. I do not believe 'e will keep it, for, though you bring 'im luck, my dear"--she turned to Sylvia--"that Count always brings 'im bad luck. It 'as been proved to me again and again. Just before you arrived atLacville with poor Madame Wolsky, Fritz 'ad a 'eavy loss!--a very 'eavyloss, and all because the Comte de Virieu 'eld the Bank!"

"Perhaps the Count will not hold the Bank again to-night, " said Sylviaslowly. 

"Of course, 'e will do so!" the other spoke quite crossly, "Did I nottell you, Sylvia, that our day servant heard from M. Polperro's wife, whose sister is cook to the Duchesse d'Eglemont, that the Comte de Virieu'as been left an immense fortune by 'is godmother? Well, it is a fortunethat will soon melt"--she chuckled, as if the thought was very pleasantto her. "But I do not think that any of it is likely to melt into Fritz'spocket--though, to be sure, we 'ave been very lucky, all of us, to-night, " she looked affectionately at Sylvia. 

"Even you, Sir"--Madame Wachner turned to Chester with a broadsmile--"even you must be pleased that we came to the Casino to-night. What a pity it is you did not risk something! Even one pound! You might'ave made quite a nice lot of money to take back to England with you--"

"--Or to spend in Switzerland!" said Chester, laughing. "It is toSwitzerland I am going, Madame! I shall leave here the day afterto-morrow. "

"And will you not come back again?" asked Madame Wachner inquisitively. 

"I may come back again if Mrs. Bailey is still here; but I do not supposeshe will be, for I intend to spend at least a fortnight in Switzerland. "

The three were now approaching the gates of the Villa du Lac. 

"Well, Sylvia, " cried Chester. "I suppose I must now say good-night? I donot envy you your ill-gotten gains!" He spoke lightly, but there was anundercurrent of reproach in his voice, or so Sylvia fancied. 

"Good-night!" she said, and her voice was tremulous. 

As she held out her hand the little fancy bag which held all herwinnings, the bundle of notes and loose pieces of gold, fell to theground. 

Madame Wachner stooped down and picked it up. "How 'eavy it is!" sheexclaimed, enviously. "Good gracious, Sylvia! What a lot you must 'avemade to-night?"

"And the notes don't weigh much, " said Sylvia. "It's only the gold thatis heavy!"

But she was not thinking of what she was saying. Her heart was full ofanguish. How could Paul de Virieu have been so mad as to risk such animmense sum, a tenth part of the fortune--for fortune it was--which hadjust been left to him?

Sylvia hated herself for having contributed to his losses. She knew thatit was absurd that she should feel this, for the same cards wouldcertainly have been dealt to whoever had happened to take them from the_croupier_. But still, superstition is part of the virus which fills thegambler's blood, and she had certainly won a considerable part of themoney Count Paul had lost to-night. 

"May I see you back to your house?" asked Chester of Madame Wachner. 

"Oh no, Monsieur, I must go hack to the Casino and look after Fritz!'E is a child--quite a child as regards money. " Madame Wachner sighedheavily. "No, no, you go 'ome to bed in the Pension Malfait. "

"I shouldn't think of doing such a thing!" he said kindly. "I will comeback with you to the Casino, and together we will persuade MonsieurWachner to go home. He has had time to make or lose a good deal of moneyin the last few minutes. "

"Yes, indeed he 'as--" again Madame Wachner sighed, and Chester's heartwent out to her. She was a really nice old woman--clever and intelligent, as well as cheerful and brave. It seemed a great pity that she should becursed with a gambler for a husband. 

As they went back into the Casino they could hear the people round themtalking of the Comte de Virieu, and of the high play that had gone on atthe club that evening. 

"No, he is winning now, " they heard someone say. And Madame Wachnerlooked anxious. If Count Paul were winning, then her Fritz must belosing. 

And alas! her fears were justified. When they got up into the BaccaratRoom they found L'Ami Fritz standing apart from the tables, his hands inhis pockets, staring abstractedly out of a dark window on to the lake. 

"Well?" cried Madame Wachner sharply, "Well, Fritz?"

"I have had no luck!" he shook his head angrily. "It is all the fault ofthat cursed system! If I had only begun at the right, the propitiousmoment--as I should have done if you had not worried me and asked me togo away--I should probably have made a great deal of money, " he looked ather disconsolately, deprecatingly. 

Chester also looked at Madame Wachner. He admired the wife'sself-restraint. Her red face got a little redder. That was all. 

"It cannot be helped, " she said a trifle coldly, and in French. "I knewhow it would be, so I am not disappointed. Have you anything left? Haveyou got the five louis I gave you at the beginning of the evening?"

Monsieur Wachner shook his head gloomily. 

"Well then, it is about time we went home. " She turned and led the wayout. 

CHAPTER XXIII

As Sylvia went slowly and wearily up to her room a sudden horror ofLacville swept over her excited brain. 

For the first time since she had been in the Villa du Lac, she locked thedoor of her bed room and sat down in the darkness. 

She was overwhelmed with feelings of humiliation and pain. She toldherself with bitter self-scorn that Paul de Virieu cared nothing for her. If he had cared ever so little he surely would never have done what hehad done to-night?

But such thoughts were futile, and soon she rose and turned on theelectric light. Then she sat down at a little writing-table which hadbeen thoughtfully provided for her by M. Polperro, and hurriedly, withfeverish eagerness, wrote a note. 

 Dear Count de Virieu--

 I am very tired to-night, and I do not feel as if I should be well enough to ride to-morrow. --Yours sincerely, Sylvia Bailey. 

That was all, but it was enough. Hitherto she had evidently been--hatefulthought--what the matrons of Market Dalling called "coming on" in hermanner to Count Paul; henceforth she would be cold and distant to him. 

She put her note into an envelope, addressed it, and went downstairsagain. It was very late, but M. Polperro was still up. The landlord neverwent to bed till each one of his clients was safe indoors. 

"Will you kindly see that the Comte de Virieu gets this to-night?" shesaid briefly. And then, as the little man looked at her with somesurprise, "It is to tell the Count that I cannot ride to-morrow morning. It is late, and I am very tired; sleepy, too, after the long motoringexpedition I took this afternoon!" She tried to smile. 

M. Polperro bowed. 

"Certainly, Madame. The Count shall have this note the moment he returnsfrom the Casino. He will not be long now. "

But the promises of Southerners are pie-crust. Doubtless M. Polperromeant the Count to have the note that night, but he put it aside andforgot all about it. 

Sylvia had a broken night, and she was still sleeping heavily when shewas wakened by the now familiar sound of the horses being brought intothe courtyard. She jumped out of bed and peeped through an opening inthe closed curtains. 

It was a beautiful morning. The waters of the lake dimpled in the sun. A door opened, and Sylvia heard voices. Then Count Paul was going ridingafter all, and by himself? Sylvia felt a pang of unreasoning anger andregret. 

Paul de Virieu and M. Polperro were standing side by side; suddenly shesaw the hotel-keeper hand the Count, with a gesture of excuse, the noteshe had written the night before. Count Paul read it through, then he putit back in its envelope, and placed it in the breast pocket of his coat. 

He did not send the horses away, as Sylvia in her heart had rather hopedhe would do, but he said a word to M. Polperro, who ran into the Villaand returned a moment later with something which he handed, with adeferential bow to the Count. 

It was a cardcase, and Paul de Virieu scribbled something on a card andgave it to M. Polperro. A minute later he had ridden out of the gates. 

Sylvia moved away from the window, but she was in no mood to go back tobed. She felt restless, excited, sorry that she had given up her ride. 

When at last her tea was brought in, she saw the Count's card lying onthe tray:

 Madame--

 I regret very much to hear that you are not well--so ran his pencilled words--but I trust you will be able to come down this morning, for I have a message to give you from my sister. 

 Believe me, Madame, of all your servants the most devoted. 

 Paul de Virieu. 

They met in the garden--the garden which they had so often had tothemselves during their short happy mornings; and, guided by aninstinctive longing for solitude, and for being out of sight and outof mind of those about them, they made their way towards the arch inthe wall which led to the _potager_. 

It was just ten o'clock, and the gardeners were leaving off work for anhour; they had earned their rest, for their work begins each summer dayat sunrise. It was therefore through a sweet-smelling, solitarywilderness that Count Paul guided his companion. 

They walked along the narrow paths edged with fragrant herbs till theycame to the extreme end of the kitchen-garden, and then--

"Shall we go into the orangery?" he asked abruptly. 

Sylvia nodded. These were the first words he had uttered since his short"Good morning. I hope, Madame, you are feeling better?"

He stepped aside to allow her to go first into the large, finely-proportioned building, which was so charming a survival ofeighteenth-century taste. The orangery was cool, fragrant, deserted;remote indeed from all that Lacville stands for in this ugly, utilitarianworld. 

"Won't you sit down?" he said slowly. And then, as if echoing hiscompanion's thoughts, "It seems a long, long time since we were firstin the orangery, Madame--"

"--When you asked me so earnestly to leave Lacville, " said Sylvia, tryingto speak lightly. She sat down on the circular stone seat, and, as he haddone on that remembered morning when they were still strangers, he tookhis place at the other end of it. 

"Well?" he said, looking at her fixedly. "Well, you see I came back afterall!"

Sylvia made no answer. 

"I ought not to have done so. It was weak of me. " He did not look at heras he spoke; he was tracing imaginary patterns on the stone floor. 

"I came back, " he concluded, in a low, bitter tone, "because I could notstay any longer away from you. "

And still Sylvia remained silent. 

"Do you not believe that?" he asked, rather roughly. 

And then at last she looked up and spoke. 

"I think you imagine that to be the case, " she said, "but I am sure thatit is not I, alone, who brought you back to Lacville. "

"And yet it is you--you alone!" he exclaimed and he jumped up and cameand stood before her. 

"God knows I do not wish to deceive you. Perhaps, if I had not come backhere, I should in time--not at once, Madame, --have gone somewhere else, where I could enjoy the only thing in life which had come to be worthwhile living for. But it was you--you alone--that brought me back here, to Lacville!"

"Why did you go straight to the Casino?" she faltered. "And why?--oh, whydid you risk all that money?"

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"Because I am a fool!" he answered, bitterly--"a fool, and what theEnglish rightly call 'a dog in the manger!' I ought to rejoice when Isee you with that excellent fellow, Mr. Chester--and as your friend, " hestopped short and then ended his sentence with the words, "I ought to behappy to know that you will have so excellent a husband!"

Sylvia also got up. 

"You are quite mistaken, " she said, coldly. "I shall never marry Mr. Chester. "

"I regret to hear you say that, " said Count Paul, seriously. "A womanshould not live alone, especially a woman who is young and beautiful, and--and who has money. "

Sylvia shook her head. She was angry--more hurt and angry than she hadever felt before in her life. She told herself passionately that theComte de Virieu was refusing that which had not been offered to him. 

"You are very kind, " she answered, lightly. "But I have managed verywell up to now, and I think I shall go on managing very well. You neednot trouble yourself about the matter, Count Paul. Mr. Chester and Ithoroughly understand one another--" She waited, and gently she added, "I wish I could understand you--"

"I wish I understood myself, " he said sombrely. "But there is one thingthat I believe myself incapable of doing. Whatever my feeling, nay, whatever my love, for a woman, I would never do so infamous a thing as totry and persuade her to join her life to mine. I know too well to what Ishould be exposing her--to what possible misery, nay, to what probabledegradation! After all, a man is free to go to the devil alone--but hehas no right to drag a woman there with him!"

His voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, and he was gazing into Sylvia'spale face with an anguished look of questioning and of pleading pain. 

"I think that is true, Count Paul. " Sylvia heard herself uttering gently, composedly, the words which meant at once so much and so little to themboth. "It is a pity that all men do not feel about this as you do, " sheconcluded mechanically. 

"I felt sure you would agree with me, " he answered slowly. 

"Ought we not to be going back to the villa? I am expecting Mr. Chesterto lunch, and though I know it is quite early, he has got into the way, these last few days, of coming early. "

Her words stung him in his turn. 

"Stop!" he said roughly. "Do not go yet, Mrs. Bailey. " He mutteredbetween his teeth, "Mr. Chester's turn will come!" And then aloud, "Isthis to be the end of everything--the end of our--our friendship? I shallleave Lacville to-night for I do not care to stay on here after you havetaunted me with having come back to see you!"

Sylvia gave a little cry of protest. 

"How unkind you are, Count Paul!" She still tried to speak lightly, butthe tears were now rolling down her cheeks--and then in a moment shefound herself in Paul de Virieu's arms. She felt his heart beatingagainst her breast. 

"Oh, my darling!" he whispered brokenly, in French, "my darling, how Ilove you!"

"But if you love me, " she said piteously, "what does anything elsematter?"

Her hand had sought his hand. He grasped it for a moment and then let itgo. 

"It is because I love you--because I love you more than I love myselfthat I give you up, " he said, but, being human, he did not give her upthere and then. Instead, he drew her closer to him, and his lips soughtand found her sweet, tremulous mouth. 

 * * * * *

And Chester? Chester that morning for the first time in his well-balancedlife felt not only ill but horribly depressed. He had come back to thePension Malfait the night before feeling quite well, and as cheerful ashis disapproval of Sylvia Bailey's proceedings at the Casino allowed himto be. And while thoroughly disapproving, he had yet--such being humannature--been glad that Sylvia had won and not lost!

The Wachners had offered to drive him back to his pension, and he hadaccepted, for it was very late, and Madame Wachner, in spite of herFritz's losses, had insisted on taking a carriage home. 

And then, though he had begun by going to sleep, Chester had waked at theend of an hour to feel himself encompassed, environed, oppressed by the_perception_--it was far more than a sensation--that he was no longeralone. 

He sat up in bed and struck a match, at once longing and fearing to seea form, --the semblance of a human being--rise out of the darkness. 

But all he saw, when he had lighted the candle which stood on the tableby his bed, was the barely furnished room which, even in this poor andwavering light, had so cheerful and commonplace an appearance. 

Owing no doubt to his excellent physical condition, as well as to hisgood conscience, Chester was a fearless man. A week ago he would havelaughed to scorn the notion that the dead ever revisit the earth, as somany of us believe they do, but the four nights he had spent at thePension Malfait, had shaken his conviction that "dead men rise up never. "

Most reluctantly he had come to the conclusion that the Pension Malfaitwas haunted. 

And the feeling of unease did not vanish even after he had taken his bathin the queer bath-room, of which the Malfaits were so proud, or later, when he had eaten the excellent breakfast provided for him. On thecontrary, the thought of going up to his bed-room, even in broaddaylight, filled him with a kind of shrinking fear. 

He told himself angrily that this kind of thing could not go on. Thesleepless nights made him ill--he who never was ill; also he was losingprecious days of his short holiday, while doing no good to himself and nogood to Sylvia. 

Sending for the hotel-keeper, he curtly told him that he meant to leaveLacville that evening. 

M. Malfait expressed much sorrow and regret. Was M'sieur not comfortable?Was there anything he could do to prolong his English guest's stay?

No, M'sieur had every reason to be satisfied, but--but had M. Malfaitever had any complaints of noises in the bed-room occupied by his Englishguest?

The Frenchman's surprise and discomfiture seemed quite sincere; butChester, looking into his face, suspected that the wondering protests, the assertion that this particular bed-room was the quietest in thehouse, were not sincere. In this, however he wronged poor M. Malfait. 

Chester went upstairs and packed. There seemed to be a kind of finalityin the act. If she knew he was ready to start that night, Sylvia wouldnot be able to persuade him to stay on, as she probably would try to do. 

At the Villa du Lac he was greeted with, "Madame Bailey is in the gardenwith the Comte de Virieu"--and he thought he saw a twinkle in merrylittle M. Polperro's eyes. 

Poor Sylvia! Poor, foolish, wilful Sylvia! Was it conceivable that afterwhat she had seen the night before she still liked, she still respected, that mad French gambler?

He looked over the wide lawn; no, there was no sign of Sylvia and theCount. Then, all at once, coming through a door which gave access, as heknew, to the big kitchen-garden of the villa, he saw Mrs. Bailey'sgraceful figure; a few steps behind her walked Count Paul. 

Chester hurried towards them. How odd they both looked--and how ill atease! The Comte de Virieu looked wretched, preoccupied, and gloomy--aswell he might do, considering the large sum of money he had lost lastnight. As for Sylvia--yes, there could be no doubt about it--she had beencrying! When she saw Chester coming towards her, she instinctively tiltedher garden hat over her face to hide her reddened eyelids. He felt atonce sorry for, and angry with, her. 

"I came early in order to tell you, " he said abruptly, "that I find Imust leave Lacville to-day! The man whom I am expecting to join me inSwitzerland is getting impatient, so I've given notice to the PensionMalfait--in fact, I've already packed. "

Sylvia gave him a listless glance, and made no comment on his news. 

Chester felt rather nettled. "You, I suppose, will be staying on here forsome time?" he said. 

"I don't know, " she answered in a low voice. "I haven't made up my mindhow long I shall stay here. "

"I also am leaving Lacville, " said the Comte de Virieu. 

And then, as he saw, or fancied he saw, a satirical expression pass overthe Englishman's face, he added rather haughtily:

"Strange to say, my luck turned last night--I admit I did not deserveit--and I left off with a good deal to the good. However, I feel I haveplayed enough for a while, and, as I have been telling Mrs. Bailey, Ithink it would do me good to go away. In fact"--and then Count Paul gavean odd little laugh--"I also am going to Switzerland! In old days I was amember of our Alpine Club. "

Chester made a sudden resolve, and, what was rare in one soconstitutionally prudent, acted on it at once. 

"If you are really going to Switzerland, " he said quietly, "then whyshould we not travel together? I meant to go to-night, but if you preferto wait till to-morrow, Count, I can alter my arrangements. "

The Comte de Virieu remained silent for what seemed to the two waitingfor his answer a very long time. 

"This evening will suit me just as well as to-morrow, " he said at last. 

He did not look at Sylvia. He had not looked her way since Chester hadjoined them. With a hand that shook a little he took his cigarette-caseout of his pocket, and held it out to the other man. 

The die was cast. So be it. Chester, prig though he might be, was rightin his wish to remove Sylvia from his, Paul de Virieu's, company. TheEnglishman was more right than he would ever know. 

How amazed Chester would have been had he been able to see straight intoPaul de Virieu's heart! Had he divined the other's almost unendurabletemptation to take Sylvia Bailey at her word, to impose on her patheticignorance of life, to allow her to become a gambler's wife. 

Had the woman he loved been penniless, the Comte de Virieu would probablyhave yielded to the temptation which now came in the subtle garb ofjealousy--keen, poisoned-fanged jealousy of this fine looking youngEnglishman who stood before them both. 

Would Sylvia ever cling to this man as she had clung to him--would sheever allow Chester to kiss her as she had allowed Paul to kiss her, andthat after he had released the hand she had laid in his?

But alas! there are kisses and kisses--clingings and clingings. Chester, so the Frenchman with his wide disillusioned knowledge of life felt onlytoo sure, would win Sylvia in time. 

"Shall we go in and find out the time of the Swiss express?" he asked theother man, "or perhaps you have already decided on a train?"

"No, I haven't looked one out yet. "

They strolled off together towards the house, and Sylvia walked blindlyon to the grass and sat down on one of the rocking-chairs of which M. Polperro was so proud. 

She looked after the two men with a sense of oppressed bewilderment. Thenthey were both going away--both going to leave her?

After to-day--how strange, how utterly unnatural the parting seemed--shewould probably never see Paul de Virieu again. 

 * * * * *

The day went like a dream--a fantastic, unreal dream. 

Sylvia did not see Count Paul again alone. She and Chester went a drivein the afternoon--the expedition had been arranged the day before withthe Wachners, and there seemed no valid reason why it should be put off. 

And then Madame Wachner with her usual impulsive good nature, on hearingthat both Chester and the Comte de Virieu were going away, warmly invitedSylvia to supper at the Châlet des Muguets for that same night, andSylvia listlessly accepted. She did not care what she did or where shewent. 

At last came the moment of parting. 

"I'll go and see you off at the station, " she said, and Chester, rathersurprised, raised one or two objections. "I'm determined to come, " shecried angrily. "What a pity it is, Bill, that you always try and manageother people's business for them!"

And she did go to the station--only to be sorry for it afterwards. 

Paul de Virieu, holding her hand tightly clasped in his for the lasttime, had become frightfully pale, and as she made her way back to theCasino, where the Wachners were actually waiting for her, Sylvia washaunted by his reproachful, despairing eyes. 

CHAPTER XXIV

It was nearly nine o'clock, and for the moment the Casino was very empty, for the afternoon players had left, and the evening _serie_, as M. Polperro contemptuously called them--the casual crowd of night visitorsto Lacville--had not yet arrived from Paris. 

"And now, " said Madame Wachner, suddenly, "is it not time for us to goand 'ave our little supper?"

The "citizeness of the world" had been watching her husband and Sylviaplaying at Baccarat; both of them had won, and Sylvia had welcomed, eagerly, the excitement of the tables. 

Count Paul's muttered farewell echoed in her ears, and the ornatelydecorated gambling room seemed full of his presence. 

She made a great effort to put any intimate thought of him away. Thenext day, so she told herself, she would go back to England, to MarketDalling. There she must forget that such a place as Lacville existed;there she must banish Paul de Virieu from her heart and memory. Yes, there was nothing now to keep her here, in this curious place, where shehad eaten, in more than one sense, of the bitter fruit of the tree ofknowledge. 

With a deep, involuntary sigh, she rose from the table. 

She looked at the green cloth, at the people standing round it, with anodd feeling that neither the table nor the people round her were quitereal. Her heart and thoughts were far away, with the two men both of whomloved her in their very different ways. 

Then she turned with an unmirthful smile to her companions. It would notbe fair to let her private griefs sadden the kindly Wachners. It wasreally good of them to have asked her to come back to supper at theChâlet des Muguets. She would have found it terribly lonely this eveningat the Villa du Lac. .. . 

"I am quite ready, " she said, addressing herself more particularly toMadame Wachner; and the three walked out of the Club rooms. 

"Shall we take a carriage?" Sylvia asked diffidently; she knew her stoutfriend disliked walking. 

"No, no, " said Monsieur Wachner shortly. "There is no need to take acarriage to-night; it is so fine, and, besides, it is not very far. "

He so seldom interfered or negatived any suggestion that Sylvia felt alittle surprised, the more so that it was really a long walk from theCasino to the lonely Châlet des Muguets. But as Madame Wachner had noddedassent to her husband's words, their English guest said no more. 

They started out into the moonlit night, Sylvia with her light, springingstep keeping pace with L'Ami Fritz, while his wife lagged a step behind. But, as was usual with him, M. Wachner remained silent, while hiscompanions talked. 

To-night, however, Madame Wachner did not show her usual tact; she begandiscussing the two travellers who were now well started, no doubt, ontheir way to Switzerland, and she expressed contemptuous surprise thatthe Comte de Virieu had left Lacville. 

"I am glad 'e 'as gone away, " she said cheerfully, "for the Count is whatEnglish people call so supercilious--so different to that excellent Mr. Chester! I wonder Mr. Chester was willing for the Count's company. Butyou 'ave not lost 'im, my pretty Sylvia! 'E will soon be back!"

As she spoke she laughed coarsely, and Sylvia made no answer. She thoughtit probable that she would never see the Comte de Virieu again, and theconviction hurt intolerably. It was painful to be reminded of him now, in this way, and by a woman who she knew disliked and despised him. 

She suddenly felt sorry that she had accepted the Wachner's invitation. 

To-night the way to the Châlet des Muguets seemed longer than usual--farlonger than it had seemed the last time Sylvia had walked there, whenCount Paul had been her companion. It seemed as if an immense time hadgone by since then. .. . 

Sylvia was glad when at last the three of them came within sight of thefamiliar white gate. How strangely lonely the little house looked, standing back in the twilit darkness of a summer night. 

"I wonder"--Sylvia Bailey looked up at her silent companion, L'Ami Fritzhad not opened his lips once during the walk from the Casino, "I wonderthat you and Madame Wachner are not afraid to leave the châlet alone forso many hours of each day! Your servant always goes away after lunch, doesn't she?"

"There is nothing to steal, " he answered shortly. "We always carry allour money about with us--all sensible people do so at Lacville and atMonte Carlo. "

Madame Wachner was now on Sylvia's other side. 

"Yes, " she interposed, rather breathlessly, "that is so; and I 'ope thatyou, dear friend, followed the advice we gave you about the matter? Imean, I 'ope you do not leave your money in the hotel?"

"Of course I don't, " said Sylvia, smiling. "Ever since you gave me thosepretty little leather pouches I always carry all my money about with me, strapped round my waist. At first it wasn't very comfortable, but I havegot quite used to it now. "

"That is right, " said Madame Wachner, heartily, "that is quite right!There are rogues everywhere, perhaps even in the Villa du Lac, if we kneweverything!" and Sylvia's hostess laughed in the darkness her hearty, jovial laugh. 

Suddenly she bent forward and addressed her husband. "By the way, AmiFritz, have you written that letter to the Villa du Lac?" She nodded, explaining to Sylvia, "We are anxious to get a room in your beautifulpension for a rich friend of ours. "

Sylvia had the instant feeling--she could not have told why--that hiswife's question had greatly annoyed Monsieur Wachner. 

"Of course I have written the letter!" he snapped out. "Do I ever forgetanything?"

"But I'm afraid there is no room vacant in the Villa du Lac, " saidSylvia. "And yet--well, I suppose they have not yet had time to let theComte de Virieu's room. They only knew he was going this morning. But youneed not have troubled to write a letter, Monsieur Wachner. I could havegiven the message when I got back to-night. In any case let me take yourletter. "

"Ah! but the person in question may arrive before you get back, " saidMadame Wachner. "No, no, we have arranged to send the letter by a cabmanwho will call for it. "

Monsieur Wachner pushed opened the white gate, and all three beganwalking up through the garden. The mantle of night now draped everystraggling bush, every wilted flower, and the little wilderness wasfilled with delicious, pungent night scents. 

When they reached the front door L'Ami Fritz stooped down, and beganlooking under the mat. 

Sylvia smiled in the darkness; there seemed something so primitive, sosimple, in keeping the key of one's front door outside under the mat! Andyet foolish, prejudiced people spoke of Lacville as a dangerous spot, asthe plague pit of Paris. 

Suddenly the door was opened by the day-servant. And both the husband andwife uttered an involuntary exclamation of surprise and displeasure. 

"What are you doing here?" asked Madame Wachner harshly. There was a noteof dismay, as well as of anger, in her voice. 

The woman began to excuse herself volubly. "I thought I might be of someuse, Madame. I thought I might help you with all the last details. "

"There was no necessity--none at all--for doing anything of the kind, "said her mistress, in a low, quick voice. "You had been paid! You had hadyour present! However, as you _are_ here, you may as well lay a thirdplace in the dining-room, for, as you see, we have brought Madame Baileyback to have a little supper. She will only stay a very few moments, asshe has to be at the Villa du Lac by ten o'clock. "

The woman turned and threw open the door of the dining-room. Then shestruck a match, and lighted a lamp which stood on the table. 

Sylvia, as is often the case with those who have been much thrown withFrench people, could understand French much better than she could speakit, and what Madame Wachner had just hissed out in rapid, mumbling tones, surprised and puzzled her. 

It was quite untrue that she, Sylvia, had to be back at the Villa du Lacby ten o'clock--for the matter of that, she could stay out as long and aslate as she liked. 

Then, again, although the arrangement that she should come to supperat the Châlet des Muguets to-night had been made that afternoon, theWachners had been home, but they had evidently forgotten to tell theirservant that they were expecting a visitor, for only two places were laidin the little dining-room into which they all three walked on enteringthe house. 

Propped up against the now lighted lamp was a letter addressed toMonsieur Polperro in a peculiar, large handwriting. L'Ami Fritz, againuttering that queer guttural exclamation, snatched up the envelope, andhurriedly put it into his breast-pocket. 

"I brought that letter out of M'sieur's bed-room, " observed theday-servant, cringingly. "I feared M'sieur had forgotten it! WouldM'sieur like me to take it to the Villa du Lac on my way home?"

"No, " said Monsieur Wachner, shortly. "There is no need for you to dothat; Madame Bailey will kindly take it for me. "

And again Sylvia felt surprised. Surely he had said--or was it MadameWachner?--that they had arranged for a man to call for it. 

His wife shouted out his name imperiously from the dark passage, "Fritz!Fritz! Come here a moment; I want you. "

He hurried out of the room, and Sylvia and the servant were thus leftalone together for a few moments in the dining-room. 

The woman went to the buffet and took up a plate; she came and placed itnoisily on the table, and, under cover of the sound she made, "Do notstay here, Madame, " she whispered, thrusting her wrinkled, sharp-featuredface close to the Englishwoman's. "Come away with me! Say you want me towait a bit and conduct you back to the Villa du Lac. "

Sylvia stared at her distrustfully. This _femme de ménage_ had adisagreeable face; there was a cunning, avaricious look in her eyes, or so Mrs. Bailey fancied; no doubt she remembered the couple of francswhich had been given to her, or rather extorted by her, on the occasionof the English lady's last visit to the Châlet des Muguets. 

"I will not say more, " the servant went on, speaking very quickly, andunder her breath. "But I am an honest woman, and these people frightenme. Still, I am not one to want embarrassments with the police. "

And Sylvia suddenly remembered that those were exactly the words whichhad been uttered by Anna Wolsky's landlady in connection with Anna'sdisappearance. How frightened French people seemed to be of the police!

There came the sound of steps in the passage, and the Frenchwoman movedaway quickly from Sylvia's side. She took up the plate she had justplaced on the table, and to Sylvia's mingled disgust and amusement beganrubbing it vigorously with her elbow. 

Monsieur Wachner entered the room. 

"That will do, that will do, Annette, " he said patronisingly. "Come here, my good woman! Your mistress and I desire to give you a further littlegift as you have shown so much zeal to-day, so here is twenty francs. "

"_Merci, M'sieur. _"

Without looking again at Sylvia the woman went out of the room, and amoment later the front door slammed behind her. 

"My wife discovered that it is Annette's fête day to-morrow, and gave hera trifle. But she was evidently not satisfied, and no doubt that was whyshe stayed on to-night, " observed Monsieur Wachner solemnly. 

Madame Wachner now came in. She had taken off her bonnet and changed herelastic-sided boots for easy slippers. 

"Oh, those French people!" she exclaimed. "How greedy they are for money!But--well, Annette has earned her present very fairly--" She shrugged hershoulders. 

"May I go and take off my hat?" asked Sylvia; she left the room beforeMadame Wachner could answer her, and hurried down the short, darkpassage. 

The door of the moonlit kitchen was ajar, and to her surprise she sawthat a large trunk, corded and even labelled, stood in the middle of thefloor. Close to the trunk was a large piece of sacking--and by it anothercoil of thick rope. 

Was it possible that the Wachners, too, were leaving Lacville? If so, howvery odd of them not to have told her!

As she opened the door of the bed-room Madame Wachner waddled up behindher. 

"Wait a moment!" she cried. "Or perhaps, dear friend, you do not want alight? You see, we have been rather upset to-day, for L'Ami Fritz has togo away for two or three days, and that is a great affair! We are so veryseldom separated. 'Darby and Joan, ' is not that what English people wouldcall us?"

"The moon is so bright I can see quite well, " Sylvia was taking off herhat; she put it, together with a little fancy bag in which she kept theloose gold she played with at the gambling tables, on Madame Wachner'sbed. She felt vaguely uncomfortable, for even as Madame Wachner hadspoken she had become aware that the bed-room was almost entirely clearedof everything belonging to its occupants. However, the Wachners, likeAnna Wolsky, had the right to go away without telling anyone of theirintention. 

As they came back into the dining-room together, Mrs. Bailey's host, whowas already sitting down at table, looked up. 

"Words! Words! Words!" he exclaimed harshly. "Instead of talking so muchwhy do you not both come here and eat your suppers? I am very hungry. "

Sylvia had never heard the odd, silent man speak in such a tone before, but his wife answered quite good-humouredly, "You forget, Fritz, that the cabman is coming. Till he has come and gonewe shall not have peace. "

And sure enough, within a moment of her saying those words there came asound of shuffling footsteps on the garden path. 

Monsieur Wachner got up and went out of the room. He opened the frontdoor, and Sylvia overheard a few words of the colloquy between her hostand his messenger. 

"Yes, you are to take it now, at once. Just leave it at the Villa du Lac. You will come for us--you will come, that is, for _me_"--Monsieur Wachnerraised his voice--"to-morrow morning at half-past six. I desire to catchthe 7. 10 train to Paris. "

There was a jingle of silver, and then Sylvia caught the man's answering, "_Merci, c'est entendu, M'sieur. _"

But L'Ami Fritz did not come back at once to the dining-room. He went outinto the garden and accompanied the man down to the gate. 

When he came back again he put a large key on the dining-table. 

"There!" he said, with a grunt of satisfaction. "Now there will benothing to disturb us any more. "

They all three sat down at the round dining-table. To Sylvia's surprisea very simple meal was set out before them. There was only one small dishof galantine. When Sylvia Bailey had been to supper with the Wachnersbefore, there had always been two or three tempting cold dishes, andsome dainty friandises as well, the whole evidently procured from theexcellent confectioner who drives such a roaring trade at Lacville. To-night, in addition to the few slices of galantine, there was onlya little fruit. 

Then a very odd thing happened. 

L'Ami Fritz helped first his wife and himself largely, then Sylvia morefrugally. It was perhaps a slight matter, the more so that MonsieurWachner was notoriously forgetful, being ever, according to his wife, absorbed in his calculations and "systems. " But all the same, thisextraordinary lack of good manners on her host's part added to Sylvia'sfeeling of strangeness and discomfort. 

Indeed, the Wachners were both very unlike their usual selves thisevening. Madame Wachner had suddenly become very serious, her stout redface was set in rather grim, grave lines; and twice, as Sylvia was eatingthe little piece of galantine which had been placed on her plate by L'AmiFritz, she looked up and caught her hostess's eyes fixed on her with acurious, alien scrutiny. 

When they had almost finished the meat, Madame Wachner suddenly exclaimedin French. 

"Fritz! You have forgotten to mix the salad! Whatever made you forgetsuch an important thing? You will find what is necessary in the drawerbehind you. "

Monsieur Wachner made no answer. He got up and pulled the drawer of thebuffet open. Taking out of it a wooden spoon and fork, he came back tothe table and began silently mixing the salad. 

The two last times Sylvia had been at the Châlet des Muguets, herhost, in deference to her English taste, had put a large admixture ofvinegar in the salad dressing, but this time she saw that he soused thelettuce-leaves with oil. 

At last, "Will you have some salad, Mrs. Bailey?" he said brusquely, andin English. He spoke English far better than did his wife. 

"No, " she said. "Not to-night, thank you!"

And Sylvia, smiling, looked across at Madame Wachner, expecting to see inthe older woman's face a humorous appreciation of the fact that L'AmiFritz had forgotten her well-known horror of oil. 

Mrs. Bailey's dislike of the favourite French salad-dressing ingredienthad long been a joke among the three, nay, among the four, for AnnaWolsky had been there the last time Sylvia had had supper with theWachners. It had been such a merry meal!

To-night no meaning smile met hers; instead she only saw that odd, grave, considering look on her hostess's face. 

Suddenly Madame Wachner held out her plate across the table, and L'AmiFritz heaped it up with the oily salad. 

Sylvia Bailey's plate was empty, but Monsieur Wachner did not seemto notice that his guest lacked anything. And at last, to her extremeastonishment, she suddenly saw him take up one of the two pieces of meatremaining on the dish, and, leaning across, drop it on his wife's plate. Then he helped himself to the last remaining morsel. 

It was such a trifling thing really, and due of course to her host'ssingular absent-mindedness; yet, even so, taken in connection with boththe Wachners' silence and odd manner, this lack of the commonest courtesystruck Sylvia with a kind of fear--with fear and with pain. She felt sohurt that the tears came into her eyes. 

There was a long moment's pause--then, "Do you not feel well, " asked Madame Wachner harshly, "or are yougrieving for the Comte de Virieu?"

Her voice had become guttural, full of coarse and cruel malice, and evenas she spoke she went on eating voraciously. 

Sylvia Bailey pushed her chair back, and rose to her feet. 

"I should like to go home now, " she said quietly, "for it is gettinglate, "--her voice shook a little. She was desperately afraid ofdisgracing herself by a childish outburst of tears. "I can make myway back quite well without Monsieur Wachner's escort. "

She saw her host shrug his shoulders. He made a grimace at his wife; itexpressed annoyance, nay, more, extreme disapproval. 

Madame Wachner also got up. She wiped her mouth with her napkin, and thenlaid her hand on Sylvia's shoulder. 

"Come, come, " she exclaimed, and this time she spoke quite kindly, "youmust not be cross with me, dear friend! I was only laughing, I was onlywhat you call in England 'teasing. ' The truth is I am very vexed andupset that our supper is not better. I told that fool Frenchwoman to getin something really nice, and she disobeyed me! I was 'ungry, too, for I'ad no déjeuner to-day, and that makes one 'ollow, does it not? But nowL'Ami Fritz is going to make us some good coffee! After we 'ave 'ad ityou shall go away if so is your wish, but my 'usband will certainlyaccompany you--"

"Most certainly I will do so; you will not move--no, not a singlestep--without me, " said Monsieur Wachner solemnly. 

And then Madame Wachner burst out into a sudden peal oflaughter--laughter which was infectious. 

Sylvia smiled too, and sat down again. After all, as Paul de Virieu hadtruly said, not once, but many times, the Wachners were not refinedpeople--but they were kind and very good-natured. And then she, Sylvia, was tired and low-spirited to-night--no doubt she had imagined the changein their manner, which had so surprised and hurt her. 

Madame Wachner was quite her old self again; just now she was engaged inheaping all the cherries which were in the dessert dish on her guest'splate, in spite of Sylvia's eager protest. 

L'Ami Fritz got up and left the room. He was going into the kitchen tomake the coffee. 

"Mr. Chester was telling me of your valuable pearls, " said Madame Wachnerpleasantly. "I _was_ surprised! What a lot of money to 'ang round one'sneck! But it is worth it if one 'as so lovely a neck as 'as the beautifulSylvia! May I look at your pearls, dear friend? Or do you never take themoff?"

Sylvia unclasped the string of pearls and laid it on the table. 

"Yes, they are rather nice, " she said modestly. "I always wear them, evenat night. Many people have a knot made between each pearl, for that, ofcourse, makes the danger of losing them much less should the stringbreak. But mine are not knotted, for a lady once told me that it made thepearls hang much less prettily; she said it would be quite safe if I hadthem restrung every six months. So that is what I do. I had them restrungjust before coming to France. "

Madame Wachner reverentially took up the pearls in her large hand; sheseemed to be weighing them. 

"How heavy they are, " she said at length, and now she spoke French. 

"Yes, " said Sylvia, "you can always tell a real pearl by its weight. "

"And to think, " went on her hostess musingly, "that each of these tinyballs is worth--how much is it worth?--at least five or six hundredfrancs, I suppose?"

"Yes, " said Sylvia again, "I'm glad to say they have increased in valueduring the last few years. You see, pearls are the only reallyfashionable gems just now. "

"And they cannot be identified like other fine jewels, " observed MadameWachner, "but I suppose they are worth more together than separately?"she was still speaking in that thoughtful, considering tone. 

"Oh, I don't know that, " said Sylvia, smiling. "Each separate pearl isworth a good deal, but still I daresay you are right, for these arebeautifully matched. I got them, by a piece of great luck, without havingto pay--well, what I suppose one would call the middle-man's profit! Ijust paid what I should have done at a good London sale. "

"And you paid?--seven--eight 'undred pounds?" asked Madame Wachner, this time in English, and fixing her small, dark eyes on the fairEnglishwoman's face. 

"Oh, rather more than that. " Sylvia grew a little red. "But as I saidjust now, they are always increasing in value. Even Mr. Chester, who didnot approve of my getting these pearls, admits that I made a goodbargain. "

Through the open door she thought she heard Monsieur Wachner coming backdown the passage. So she suddenly took the pearls out of the otherwoman's hand and clasped the string about her neck again. 

L'Ami Fritz came into the room. He was holding rather awkwardly a littletray on which were two cups--one a small cup, the other a large cup, bothfilled to the brim with black coffee. He put the small cup before hisguest, the large cup before his wife. 

"I hope you do not mind having a small cup, " he said solemnly. "Iremember that you do not care to take a great deal of coffee, so I havegiven you the small cup. "

Sylvia looked up. 

"Oh dear!" she exclaimed, "I ought to have told you before you made it, Monsieur Wachner--but I won't have any coffee to-night. The last time Itook some I lay awake all night. "

"Oh, but you must take coffee!" Madame Wachner spoke good-humouredly, butwith great determination. "The small amount you have in that little cupwill not hurt you; and besides it is a special coffee, L'Ami Fritz's ownmixture"--she laughed heartily. 

And again? Sylvia noticed that Monsieur Wachner looked at his wifewith a fixed, rather angry look, as much as to say, "Why are you alwayslaughing? Why cannot you be serious sometimes?"

"But to-night, honestly, I would really rather not have any coffee!"

Sylvia had suddenly seen a vision of herself lying wide awake during longdark hours--hours which, as she knew by experience, generally bring tothe sleepless, worrying thoughts. 

"No, no, I will not have any coffee to-night, " she repeated. 

"Yes, yes, dear friend, you really must, " Madame Wachner spoke verypersuasively. "I should be truly sorry if you did not take this coffee. Indeed, it would make me think you were angry with us because of the verybad supper we had given you! L'Ami Fritz would not have taken the troubleto make coffee for his old wife. He has made it for you, only for you; hewill be hurt if you do not take it!"

The coffee did look very tempting and fragrant. 

Sylvia had always disliked coffee in England, but somehow French coffeewas quite different; it had quite another taste from that of the mixturewhich the ladies of Market Dalling pressed on their guests at theirdinner-parties. 

She lifted the pretty little cup to her lips--but the coffee, this coffeeof L'Ami Fritz, his special mixture, as his wife had termed it, had arather curious taste, it was slightly bitter--decidedly not so nice asthat which she was accustomed to drink each day after déjeuner at theVilla du Lac. Surely it would be very foolish to risk a bad night fora small cup of indifferent coffee?

She put the cup down, and pushed it away. 

"Please do not ask me to take it, " she said firmly. "It really is verybad for me!"

Madame Wachner shrugged her shoulders with an angry gesture. 

"So be it, " she said, and then imperiously, "Fritz, will you please comewith me for a moment into the next room? I have something to ask you. "

He got up and silently obeyed his wife. Before leaving the room heslipped the key of the garden gate into his trousers pocket. 

A moment later Sylvia, left alone, could hear them talking eagerly to oneanother in that strange, unknown tongue in which they sometimes--notoften--addressed one another. 

She got up from her chair, seized with a sudden, eager desire to slipaway before they came back. For a moment she even thought of leaving thehouse without waiting for her hat and little fancy bag; and then, with astrange sinking of the heart she remembered that the white gate waslocked, and that L'Ami Fritz had now the key of it in his pocket. 

But in no case would Sylvia have had time to do what she had thought ofdoing, for a moment later her host and hostess were back in the room. 

Madame Wachner sat down again at the dining-table, "One moment!" she exclaimed, rather breathlessly. "Just wait till I 'avefinished my coffee, Sylvia dear, and then L'Ami Fritz will escort you'ome. "

Rather unwillingly, Sylvia again sat down. 

Monsieur Wachner was paying no attention either to his guest or to hiswife. He took up the chair on which he had been sitting, and placed itout of the way near the door. Then he lifted the lighted lamp off thetable and put it on the buffet. 

As he did so, Sylvia, looking up, saw the shadow of his tall, lank figurethrown grotesquely, hugely, against the opposite wall of the room. 

"Now take the cloth off the table, " he said curtly. And his wife, gulpingdown the last drops of her coffee, got up and obeyed him. 

Sylvia suddenly realised that they were getting ready for something--thatthey wanted the room cleared. 

As with quick, deft fingers she folded up the cloth, Madame Wachnerexclaimed, "As you are not taking any coffee, Sylvia, perhaps it is timefor you now to get up and go away. "

Sylvia Bailey looked across at the speaker, and reddened deeply. She feltvery angry. Never in the course of her pleasant, easy, prosperous lifehad anyone ventured to dismiss her in this fashion from their house. 

She rose, for the second time during the course of her short meal, to herfeet--

And then, in a flash, there occurred that which transformed her angerinto agonised fear--fear and terror. 

The back of her neck had been grazed by something sharp and cold, and asshe gave a smothered cry she saw that her string of pearls had parted intwo. The pearls were now falling quickly one by one, and rolling all overthe floor. 

Instinctively she bent down, but as she did so she heard the man behindher make a quick movement. 

She straightened herself and looked sharply round. 

L'Ami Fritz was still holding in his hand the small pair of nail scissorswith which he had snipped asunder her necklace; with the other he was inthe act of taking out something from the drawer of the buffet. 

She suddenly saw what that something was. 

Sylvia Bailey's nerves steadied; her mind became curiously collected andclear. There had leapt on her the knowledge that this man and woman meantto kill her--to kill her for the sake of the pearls which were stillbounding about the floor, and for the comparatively small sum of moneywhich she carried slung in the leather bag below her waist. 

L'Ami Fritz now stood staring at her. He had put his right hand--the handholding the thing he had taken out of the drawer--behind his back. He wasvery pale; the sweat had broken out on his sallow, thin face. 

For a horrible moment there floated across Sylvia's sub-conscious mindthe thought of Anna Wolsky, and of what she now knew to have been AnnaWolsky's fate. 

But she put that thought, that awful knowledge, determinedly away fromher. The instinct of self-preservation possessed her wholly. 

Already, in far less time than it would have taken to formulate thewords, she had made up her mind to speak, and she knew exactly what shemeant to say. 

"It does not matter about my pearls, " Sylvia said, quietly. Her voiceshook a little, but otherwise she spoke in her usual tone. "If you aregoing into Paris to-morrow morning, perhaps you would take them to berestrung?"

The man looked questioningly across at his wife. 

"Yes, that sounds a good plan, " he said, in his guttural voice. 

"No, " exclaimed Madame Wachner, decidedly, "that will not do at all! Wemust not run that risk. The pearls must be found, now, at once! Stoop!"she said imperiously. "Stoop, Sylvia! Help me to find your pearls!"

She made a gesture as if she also meant to bend down. .. . 

But Sylvia Bailey made no attempt to obey the sinister order. Slowly, warily she edged herself towards the closed window. At last she stoodwith her back to it--at bay. 

"No, " she said quietly, "I will not stoop to pick up my pearls now, Madame Wachner. It will be easier to find them in the daylight. I am surethat Monsieur Wachner could pick them all up for me to-morrow morning. Isnot that so, Ami Fritz?" and there was a tone of pleading, for the firsttime of pitiful fear, in her soft voice. 

She looked at him piteously, her large blue eyes wide open, dilated--

"It is not my husband's business to pick up your pearls!" exclaimedMadame Wachner harshly. 

She stepped forward and gripped Sylvia by the arm, pulling her violentlyforward. As she did so she made a sign to her husband, and he pushed achair quickly between Mrs. Bailey and the window. 

Sylvia had lost her point of vantage, but she was young and lithe; shekept her feet. 

Nevertheless, she knew with a cold, reasoned knowledge that she was verynear to death--that it was only a question of minutes, --unless--unlessshe could make the man and woman before her understand that they wouldgain far more money by allowing her to live than by killing her now, to-night, for the value of the pearls that lay scattered on the floor, and the small, the pitiably small sum on her person. 

"If you will let me go, " she said, desperately, "I swear I will give youeverything I have in the world!"

Madame Wachner suddenly laid her hand on Sylvia's arm, and tried to forceher down on to her knees. 

"What do you take us for?" she cried, furiously. "We want nothing fromyou--nothing at all!"

She looked across at her husband, and there burst from her lips a torrentof words, uttered in the uncouth tongue which the Wachners used forsecrecy. 

Sylvia tried desperately to understand, but she could make nothing ofthe strange, rapid-spoken syllables--until there fell on her ear, twicerepeated, the name _Wolsky_. .. . 

Madame Wachner stepped suddenly back, and as she did so L'Ami Fritz moveda step forward. 

Sylvia looked at him, an agonised appeal in her eyes. He was smilinghideously, a nervous grin zig-zagging across his large, thin-lippedmouth. 

"You should have taken the coffee, " he muttered in English. "It wouldhave saved us all so much trouble!"

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--

CHAPTER XXV

The great open-air restaurant in the Champs Élysées was full offoreigners, and Paul de Virieu and Bill Chester were sitting opposite toone another on the broad terrace dotted with little tables embowered inflowering shrubs. 

They were both smoking, --the Englishman a cigar, the Frenchman acigarette. It was now half-past seven, and instead of taking the firstexpress to Switzerland they had decided to have dinner comfortably inParis and to go on by a later train. 

Neither man felt that he had very much to say to the other, and Chesterstarted a little in his seat when Paul de Virieu suddenly took hiscigarette out of his mouth, put it down on the table, and leant forward. He looked at the man sitting opposite to him straight in the eyes. 

"I do not feel at all happy at our having left Mrs. Bailey alone atLacville, " he said, deliberately. 

Chester stared back at him, telling himself angrily as he did so that hedid not in the least know what the Frenchman was driving at!

What did Paul de Virieu mean by saying this stupid, obvious thing, andwhy should he drag in the question of his being happy or unhappy?

"You know that I did my best to persuade her to leave the place, " saidChester shortly. Then, very deliberately he added, "I am afraid, Count, that you've got quite a wrong notion in your mind concerning myself andMrs. Bailey. It is true I am her trustee, but I have no power of makingher do what I think sensible, or even what I think right. She isabsolutely her own mistress. "

He stopped abruptly, for he had no wish to discuss Sylvia and Sylvia'saffairs with this foreigner, however oddly intimate Mrs. Bailey hadallowed herself to get with the Comte de Virieu. 

"Lacville is such a very queer place, " observed the Count, meditatively. "It is perhaps even queerer than you know or guess it to be, Mr. Chester. "

The English lawyer thought the remark too obvious to answer. Of courseLacville was a queer place--to put it plainly, little better than agambling hell. He knew that well enough! But it was rather strange tohear the Comte de Virieu saying so--a real case, if ever there was one, of Satan rebuking sin. 

So at last he answered, irritably, "Of course it is! I can't think whatmade Mrs. Bailey go there in the first instance. " His mind was full ofSylvia. He seemed to go on speaking of her against his will. 

"Her going to Lacville was a mere accident, " explained Paul de Virieu, quickly. "She was brought there by the Polish lady, Madame Wolsky, ofwhom you must have heard her speak, whom she met in an hotel in Paris, and who disappeared so mysteriously. It is not a place for a young ladyto be at by herself. "

Bill Chester tilted back the chair on which he was sitting. Once more heasked himself what on earth the fellow was driving at? Were these remarksa preliminary to the Count's saying that he was not going to Switzerlandafter all--that he was going back to Lacville in order to take care ofSylvia. 

Quite suddenly the young Englishman felt shaken by a very primitive and, till these last few days, a very unfamiliar feeling--that of jealousy. 

Damn it--he wouldn't have that. Of course he was no longer in love withSylvia Bailey, but he was her trustee and lifelong friend. It was hisduty to prevent her making a fool of herself, either by gambling awayher money--the good money the late George Bailey had toiled so hard toacquire--or, what would be ever so much worse, by making some wretchedmarriage to a foreign adventurer. 

He stared suspiciously at his companion. Was it likely that a realcount--the French equivalent to an English earl--would lead the sort oflife this man, Paul de Virieu, was leading, and in a place like Lacville?

"If you really feel like that, I think I'd better give up my trip toSwitzerland, and go back to Lacville to-morrow morning. "

He stared hard at the Count, and noted with sarcastic amusement theother's appearance--so foppish, so effeminate to English eyes;particularly did he gaze with scorn at the Count's yellow silk socks, which matched his lemon-coloured tie and silk pocket handkerchief. Fancystarting for a long night journey in such a "get-up. " Well! Perhaps womenliked that sort of thing, but he would never have thought Sylvia Baileyto be that sort of woman. 

A change came over Paul de Virieu's face. There was unmistakablerelief--nay, more--even joy in the voice with which the Frenchmananswered, "That is excellent! That is quite right! That is first-rate! Yes, yes, Mr. Chester, you go back to Lacville and bring her away. It is not rightthat Mrs. Bailey should be by herself there. It may seem absurd to you, but, believe me, Lacville is not a safe spot in which to leave anunprotected woman. She has not one single friend, not a person to whomshe could turn to for advice, --excepting, of course, the excellentPolperro himself, and he naturally desires to keep his profitableclient. "

"There's that funny old couple--I mean the man called FritzSomething-or-other and his wife. Surely they're all right?" observedChester. 

Paul de Virieu shook his head decidedly. 

"The Wachners are not nice people, " he said slowly. "They appear to bevery fond of Mrs. Bailey, I know, but they are only fond of themselves. They are adventurers; 'out for the stuff, ' as Americans say. Old Fritzis the worst type of gambler--the type that believes he is going to getrich, rich beyond dreams of avarice, by a 'system. ' Such a man will doanything for money. I believe they knew far more of the disappearance ofMadame Wolsky than anyone else did. "

The Count lowered his voice, and leant over the table. 

"I have suspected, " he went on--"nay, I have felt sure from the veryfirst, Mr. Chester, that the Wachners are _blackmailers_. I am convincedthat they discovered something to that poor lady's discredit, and--aftermaking her pay--drove her away! Just before she left Lacville they weretrying to raise money at the Casino money-changer's on some worthlessshares. But after Madame Wolsky's disappearance they had plenty of goldand notes. "

Chester looked across at his companion. At last he was really impressed. Blackmailing is a word which has a very ugly sound in an English lawyer'sears. 

"If that is really true, " he said suddenly, "I almost feel as if I oughtto go back to Lacville to-night. I suppose there are heaps of trains?"

"You might, at all events, wait till to-morrow morning, " said Paul deVirieu, drily. 

He also had suddenly experienced a thrill of that primitive passion, jealousy, which had surprised Chester but a few moments before. But theCount was a Frenchman. He was familiar with the sensation--nay, hewelcomed it. It showed that he was still young--still worthy to be oneof the great company of lovers. 

Sylvia, his "petite amie Anglaise, " seemed to have come very near tohim in the last few moments. He saw her blue eyes brim with tears athis harsh words--he thrilled as he had thrilled with the overmasteringimpulse which had made him take her into his arms--her hand lay once morein his hand, as it had lain, for a moment this morning. 

Had he grasped and retained that kind, firm little hand in his, anentirely new life had been within his reach. 

A vision rose before Paul de Virieu--a vision of Sylvia and himselfliving heart to heart in one of those small, stately manor-houses whichare scattered throughout Brittany. And it was no vague house of dreams. He knew the little château very well. Had not his sister driven him thereonly the other day? And had she not conveyed to him in delicate, generouswords how gladly she would see his sweet English friend established thereas châtelaine?

A sense of immeasurable loss came over Paul de Virieu--But, no, he hadbeen right! Quite right! He loved Sylvia far too well to risk making heras unhappy as he would almost certainly be tempted to make her, if shebecame his wife. 

He took off his hat and remained silent for what seemed to his companionquite a long time. 

"By the way, what is Mrs. Bailey doing to-night?" he asked at last. 

"To-night?" replied Chester. "Let me see? Why, to-night she is spendingthe evening with those very people--the Wachners, of whom you werespeaking just now. I heard her arranging it with them this afternoon. "He added, stiffly, "But I doubt if your impression as to these people isa right one. They seem to me a very respectable couple. "

Paul de Virieu shrugged his shoulders. He felt suddenly uneasy--afraid hehardly knew of what. 

There was no risk that Sylvia Bailey would fall a victim toblackmailers--she had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to conceal. Butstill he hated to think that she was, even now, alone with a man andwoman of whom he had formed such a bad impression. 

He took his watch out of his pocket. "There's a train for Lacville ata quarter to ten, " he said slowly. "That would be an excellent trainfor--for _us_--to take--"

"Then are you thinking of going back to Lacville too?" There was thatsarcastic inflection in the Englishman's voice which the Count hadlearned to look for and to resent. 

"Yes. "

Count Paul looked at Bill Chester significantly, and his look said, "Takecare, my friend! We do not allow a man to sneer at another man in thiscountry unless he is willing to stand certain unpleasant consequences. Our duels are not always _pour rire_!"

During the short train journey back to Lacville they hardly spoke. Eachthought that the other was doing a strange and unreasonable thing--athing which the thinker could have done much better if left to himself. 

At Lacville station they jumped into a victoria. 

"I suppose we had better drive straight to the Villa du Lac, " saidChester, hesitatingly. 

"Yes, we had better go first to the Villa du Lac, for Mrs. Bailey shouldbe home by now. By the way, Mr. Chester, you had better ask to have myroom to-night; we know that it is disengaged. As for me, I will go onsomewhere else as soon as I know you have seen our friend. Please do nottell Mrs. Bailey that I came with you. Where would be the use? I may goback to Paris to-night. " Paul de Virieu spoke in a constrained, preoccupied voice. 

"But aren't you coming in? Won't you stay at Lacville at least tillto-morrow?"

Chester's voice unwittingly became far more cordial; if the Frenchman didnot wish to see Sylvia, why had he insisted on coming back, too, toLacville. 

The hall of the Villa du Lac was brightly lit up, and as the victoriaswept up the short drive to the stone horseshoe stairway, the Comte deVirieu suddenly grasped the other's hand. 

"Good luck!" he exclaimed, "Good luck, fortunate man! As the Abbot at myEnglish school used to say to me when he met me, as a little boy, runningabout the cloisters, 'God bless you!'"

Chester was rather touched, as well as surprised. But what queer, emotional fellows Frenchmen are to be sure! Although Count Paul, asSylvia used to call him, had evidently been a little bit in love with herhimself, he was quite willing to think of her as married to another man!

But--but there was the rub! Chester was no longer so sure that he wantedto marry Sylvia. She had become a different woman--she seemed to beanother Sylvia to the one he had always known. 

"I'll just come out and tell you that it's all right, " he said a littleawkwardly. "But I wish you'd come in--if only for a minute. Mrs. Baileywould be so pleased to see you. "

"No, no, " muttered the other. "Believe me, she would not!"

Chester jumped out of the carriage and ran quickly up the stone steps, and rang the bell. 

The door was opened by M. Polperro himself. Even busier than usual wasthe merry, capable little chef, for as it happened Madame Polperro hadhad to go away for two or three days. 

"I want to know, " said Chester abruptly, "if you can let me have a roomfor to-night? The room the Comte de Virieu occupied is, I suppose, disengaged?"

"I will see, M'sieur--I will inquire!"

M. Polperro did not know what to make of this big Englishman who had comein out of the night, bringing no luggage with him but one little bag. 

Then he suddenly remembered! Why, of course, this was the friend of thepretty, charming, wealthy Madame Bailey; the English gentleman who hadbeen staying during the past few days at the Pension Malfait! A gentlemanwho was called after a well-known cheese--yes, Chester was his name. 

Then this Mr. Chester's departure from Lacville had been a _faussesortie_--a _ruse_ to get rid of the Comte de Virieu, who was also in lovewith the lovely young English widow?

Ah! Ah! M. Polperro felt very much amused. Never had he heard of anythingso droll! But the Englishman's tale of love was not to run smooth afterall, for now another complication had arisen, and the very last one anysensible man would have expected!

"Yes, M'sieur, " said M. Polperro demurely, "it is all right! I hadforgotten! As you say, the Comte de Virieu's room is now empty, but"--hehesitated, and with a sly look added, "indeed we have another room emptyto-night--a far finer room, with a view over the lake--the room MadameBailey occupied. "

"The room Mrs. Bailey occupied?" echoed Chester. "Has Mrs. Bailey changedher room to-day?"

"Oh, no, M'sieur! She left Lacville this very evening. I have but justnow received a letter from her. "

The little man could hardly keep serious. Oh! those Englishmen, who aresaid to be so cold! When in love they behave just like other people. 

For Chester was staring at him with puzzled, wrathful eyes. 

"Ah! what a charming lady, M'sieur; Madame Polperro and I shall miss hergreatly. We hoped to keep Madame Bailey all the summer. But perhaps shewill come back--now that M'sieur has returned. " He really could notresist that last thrust. 

"Left Lacville!" repeated Chester incredulously. "But that's impossible!It isn't more than three hours since we said good-bye to her at thestation. She had no intention of leaving Lacville _then_. Do you sayyou've received a letter from her?"

"Yes, M'sieur. "

"Will you please show it me?"

"Certainly, M'sieur. "

M. Polperro, followed closely by the Englishman, trotted off into hisoffice, a funny little hole of a place which had been contrived under thestaircase. It was here that Madame Polperro was supposed to spend herbusy days. 

M. Polperro felt quite lost without his wife. Slowly, methodically, hebegan to turn over the papers on the writing-table, which, with onechair, filled up all the place. 

There had evidently been a lovers' quarrel between these two peculiarEnglish people. What a pity that the gentleman, who had very properlyreturned to beg the lady's pardon, had found his little bird flown--insuch poetic terms did the landlord in his own mind refer to SylviaBailey. 

The pretty Englishwoman's presence in the Villa du Lac had delighted M. Polperro's southern, sentimental mind; he felt her to be so decorative, as well as so lucrative, a guest for his beloved hotel. Mrs. Bailey hadnever questioned any of the extras Madame Polperro put in her weeklybills, and she had never become haggard and cross as other ladies did wholost money at the Casino. 

As he turned over the papers--bills, catalogues, and letters with whichthe table was covered, these thoughts flitted regretfully through M. Polperro's mind. 

But he had an optimistic nature, and though he was very sorry MadameBailey had left the Villa du Lac so abruptly, he was gratified by thefact that she had lived up to the ideal he had formed of his Englishguest. Though Madame Bailey had paid her weekly bill only two daysbefore--she was en pension by the day--she had actually sent him ahundred francs to pay for the two days' board; the balance to bedistributed among the servants. .. . 

There could surely be no harm in giving this big Englishman the lady'sletter? Still, M. Polperro was sorry that he had not Madame Polperro athis elbow to make the decision for him. 

"Here it is, " he said at last, taking a piece of paper out of the drawer. "I must have put it there for my wife to read on her return. It is a verygratifying letter--M'sieur will see that for himself!"

Chester took the folded-up piece of notepaper out of the littleFrenchman's hand with a strange feeling of misgiving. 

He came out into the hall and stood under the cut-glass chandelier--

"You have made a mistake, " he exclaimed quickly; "this is not Mrs. Bailey's handwriting!"

"Oh, yes, M'sieur, it is certainly Mrs. Bailey's letter. You see there isthe lady's signature written as plainly as possible!"

Chester looked down to where the man's fat finger pointed. 

In the strange, the alien handwriting, were written two words which fora moment conveyed nothing to Chester, "Silvea" and "Baylee"; as for thewriting, stiff, angular, large, it resembled Sylvia's sloping Englishcaligraphy as little as did the two words purporting to be her signatureresemble the right spelling of her name. 

A thrill of fear, of terrifying suspicion, flooded Bill Chester's shrewdbut commonplace mind. 

Slowly he read the strange letter through:

 "Monsieur Polperro (so ran the missive in French)--

 "I am leaving Lacville this evening in order to join my friend Madame Wolsky. I request you therefore to send on my luggage to the cloak room at the Gare du Nord. I enclose a hundred-franc note to pay you what I owe. Please distribute the rest of the money among the servants. I beg to inform you that I have been exceedingly comfortable at the Villa du Lac, and I will recommend your hotel to all my friends. 

 "Yours very cordially, "Sylvea Baylee. "

Turning on his heel, and without even throwing a word of apology to theastonished, and by now indignant, M. Polperro, Chester rushed out of thehall and down the stone steps, below which stood the victoria. 

"Well?" cried out Paul de Virieu. 

"Come into the house--now, at once!" cried Chester, roughly. "Somethingextraordinary has happened!"--

The Count jumped out of the carriage, and a moment later the two menstood together in the hall, careless of the fact that M. Polperro wasstaring at them with affrighted eyes. 

"This letter purports to be from Sylvia Bailey, " exclaimed Chesterhoarsely, "but of course it is nothing of the sort! She never wrote aline of it. It's entirely unlike her handwriting--and then look at theabsurd signature! What does it mean, Virieu? Can you give me any clue towhat it means?"

The Comte de Virieu raised his head from over the thin sheet ofnotepaper, and even Chester, frightened and angry as he now was, couldnot help noticing how the other man's face had changed in the last fewmoments. From being of a usual healthy sunburn, it had turned so white asto look almost green under the bright electric light. 

"Yes, I think I know what it means, " said Count Paul between his teeth. "A letter like this purported to come from Madame Wolsky when shedisappeared. But do not let us make a scene here. Let us go at once whereI believe she is, for if what I fear is true every moment is of value. "

He plucked the Englishman by the sleeve, and hurried him out into thegrateful darkness. 

"Get into the carriage, " he said, imperiously. "I will see toeverything. "

Chester heard him direct the driver to the police-station. "We may needtwo or three gendarmes, " muttered Count Paul. "It's worth the threeminutes delay. "

The carriage drew up before a shabby little house across which waspainted in large black letters the word "Gendarmerie. "

The Count rushed into the guard-room, hurriedly explained his errand tothe superintendent, and came out, but a moment later, with three men. 

"We must make room for these good fellows somehow, " he said briefly, androom was made. Chester noticed with surprise that each man was armed, notonly with a stave, but with a revolver. The French police do not stand onceremony even with potential criminals. 

"And now, " said the Count to the coachman, "five louis, my friend, if youcan get us to the Châlet des Muguets in seven minutes--"

They began driving at a breakneck pace, the driver whipping up his horse, lashing it in a way that horrified Chester. The light little carriagerocked from side to side. 

"If the man doesn't drive more carefully, " cried out the Englishman, "weshall be spilt--and that won't do us any good, will it?"

The Count called out, "If there's an accident you get nothing, my friend!Drive as quickly as you like, but drive carefully. "

They swept on through the town, and so along the dimly-lighted shadyavenues with which even Chester had become so familiar during the lastfew days. 

Paul de Virieu sat with clenched hands, staring in front of him. Remorsefilled his soul--remorse and anguish. If Sylvia had been done to death, as he now had very little doubt Anna Wolsky had been done to death, thenhe would die too. What was the vice which had meant all to him for somany years compared to his love for Sylvia?

The gendarmes murmured together in quick, excited tones. They scentedthat something really exciting, something that would perhaps lead topromotion, was going to happen. 

At last, as the carriage turned into a dark road, Count Paul suddenlybegan to talk, at the very top of his voice. 

"Speak, Mr. Chester, speak as loud as you can! Shout! Say anything thatyou like! They may as well hear that we are coming--"

But Chester could not do what the other man so urgently asked him to do. Not to save his life could he have opened his mouth and shouted as theother was now doing. 

"We are going to pay an evening call--what you in England call an eveningcall! We are going to fetch our friend--our friend, Mrs. Bailey; she isso charming, so delightful! We are going to fetch her because she hasbeen spending the evening with her friends, the Wachners. That oldshe-devil--you remember her, surely? The woman who asked you concerningyour plans? It is she I fear--"

"_Je crois que c'est ici, Monsieur?_" the man turned round on his seat. "I have done it in six minutes!"

The horse was suddenly brought up short opposite the white gate. Was thiswhere the Wachners lived? Chester stooped down. The place looked verydifferent now from what it had looked in the daylight. 

The windows of the small, low house were closely shuttered, but where theshutters met in one of the rooms glinted a straight line of light. 

"We are in time. Thank God we are in time, " said the Count, with a queerbreak in his voice. "If we were not in time, there would be no light. Thehouse of the wicked ones would be in darkness. "

And then, in French, he added, turning to the gendarmes:

"You had better all three stay in the garden, while my friend and I go upto the house. If we are gone more than five minutes, then you follow usup to the house and get in somehow!"

In varying accents were returned the composed answers, "_Oui, M'sieur. _"

There came a check, for the little gate was locked. Each man helpedanother over very quietly, and then the three gendarmes dispersed withswift, noiseless steps, each seeking a point of vantage commanding thehouse. 

Chester and Paul de Virieu walked quickly up the path. 

Suddenly a shaft of bright light pierced the moonlit darkness. Theshutters of the dining-room of the Châlet des Muguets had been unbarred, and the window was thrown wide open. 

"_Qui va là?_" the old military watchword, as the Frenchman rememberedwith a sense of terrible irony, was flung out into the night in theharsh, determined voice of Madame Wachner. 

They saw her stout figure, filling up most of the window, outlinedagainst the lighted room. She was leaning out, peering into the gardenwith angry, fear-filled eyes. 

Both men stopped simultaneously, but neither answered her. 

"Who goes there?" she repeated; and then, "I fear, Messieurs, that youhave made a mistake. You have taken this villa for someone else's house!"But there was alarm as well as anger in her voice. 

"It is I, Paul de Virieu, Madame Wachner. "

The Count spoke quite courteously, his agreeable voice thickened, madehoarse by the strain to which he had just subjected it. 

"I have brought Mr. Chester with me, for we have come to fetch Mrs. Bailey. In Paris Mr. Chester found news making her return home to Englandto-morrow a matter of imperative necessity. "

He waited a moment, then added, raising his voice as he spoke: "We haveproof that she is spending the evening with you, " and he walked onquickly to where he supposed the front door to be. 

"If they deny she is there, " he whispered to his companion, "we willshout for the gendarmes and break in. But I doubt if they will dare todeny she is there unless--unless--"

He had hoped to hear Sylvia's voice, but Madame Wachner had shut thewindow, and a deathly silence reigned in the villa. 

The two men stood in front of the closed door for what seemed to them avery long time. It was exactly two minutes; and when at last the dooropened, slowly, and revealed the tall, lanky figure of L'Ami Fritz, theyboth heard the soft, shuffling tread of the gendarmes closing in roundthe house. 

"I pray you to come in, " said Monsieur Wachner in English, and then, addressing Bill Chester, "I am pleased to see you, sir, the more so that your friend, Mrs. Bailey, is indisposed. A moment ago, to our deep concern, she found herself quitefaint--no doubt from the heat. I will conduct you, gentlemen, into thedrawing-room; my wife and Mrs. Bailey will join us there in a minute, "and only then did he move back sufficiently to allow the two men to crossthe threshold. 

Paul de Virieu opened his lips--but no sound came from them. The suddensense of relief from what had been agonised suspense gripped him by thethroat. 

He brushed past Wachner, and made straight for the door behind which hefelt sure of finding the woman whom some instinct told him he had savedfrom a terrible fate. .. . 

He turned the handle of the dining-room door, and then stopped short, forhe was amazed at the sight which met his eyes. 

Sylvia was sitting at a round table; behind her was the buffet, stillladen with the remains of a simple meal. Her face was hidden in herhands, and she was trembling--shaking as though she had the ague. 

But what amazed Paul de Virieu was the sight of Sylvia's hostess. MadameWachner was crawling about on her hands and knees on the floor, and sheremained in the same odd position when the dining-room door opened. 

At last she looked up, and seeing who stood there, staring down at her, she raised herself with some difficulty, looking to the Frenchman'ssharpened consciousness, like some monstrous greedy beast, suddenlybaulked of its prey. 

"Such a misfortune!" she exclaimed in English. "Such a very greatmisfortune! The necklace of our friend 'as broken, and 'er beautifulpearls are rolling all over the floor! We 'ave been trying, Fritz andmyself, to pick them up for 'er. Is not that so, Sylvia? Mrs. Bailey isso distressed! It 'as made 'er feel very faint, what English people call'queer'. But I tell 'er we shall find them all--it is only a matter of alittle time. I asked 'er to take some cognac my 'usband keeps for suchbad moments, but no, she would not! Is not that so, Sylvia?"

She stared down anxiously at the bowed head of her guest. 

Sylvia looked up. As if hypnotised by the other woman's voice, she roseto her feet--a wan, pitiful little smile came over her white face. 

"Yes, " she said dully, "the string of my pearls broke. I was taken faint. I felt horribly queer--perhaps it was the heat. "

Paul de Virieu took a sudden step forward into the room. He had justbecome aware of something which had made him also feel what Englishpeople call "queer. "

That something had no business in the dining-room, for it belonged to thekitchen--in fact it was a large wooden mallet of the kind used by Frenchcooks to beat meat tender. Just now the club end of the mallet wassticking out of the drawer of the walnut-wood buffet. 

The drawer had evidently been pulled out askew, and had stuck--as is theway with drawers forming part of ill-made furniture. 

Chester came to the door of the dining-room. M. Wachner had detained himfor a moment in the hall, talking volubly, explaining how pleasant hadbeen their little supper party till Mrs. Bailey had suddenly felt faint. 

Chester looked anxiously at Sylvia. She was oddly pale, all the colourdrained from her face, but she seemed on quite good terms with MadameWachner! As for that stout, good-natured looking woman, she also wasunlike her placid smiling self, for her face looked red and puffy. Butstill she nodded pleasantly to Chester. 

It seemed to the lawyer inconceivable that this commonplace couple couldhave seriously meant to rob their guest. But there was that letter--thatstrange, sinister letter which purported to be from Sylvia! Who hadwritten that letter, and with what object in view?

Chester began to feel as if he was living through a very disagreeable, bewildering nightmare. But no scintilla of the horrible truth reachedhis cautious, well-balanced brain. The worst he suspected, and that onlybecause of the inexplicable letter, was that these people meant toextract money from their guest and frighten her into leaving Lacvillethe same night. 

"Sylvia, " he said rather shortly, "I suppose we ought to be going now. Wehave a carriage waiting at the gate, so we shall be able to drive youback to the Villa du Lac. But, of course, we must first pick up all yourpearls. That won't take long!"

But Sylvia made no answer. She did not even look round at him. She wasstill staring straight before her, as if she saw something, which theothers could not see, written on the distempered wall. 

L'Ami Fritz entered the room quietly. He looked even stranger than usual, for while in one hand he held Mrs. Bailey's pretty black tulle hat andher little bag, in the other was clutched the handle of a broom. 

"I did not think you would want to go back into my wife's bed-room, " hesaid, deprecatingly; and Mrs. Bailey, at last turning her head round, actually smiled gratefully at him. 

She was reminding herself that there had been a moment when he had beenwilling to let her escape. Only once--only when he had grinned at her sostrangely and deplored her refusal of the drugged coffee, had she feltthe sick, agonising fear of him that she had felt of Madame Wachner. 

Laying the hat and bag on the table, L'Ami Fritz began sweeping the floorwith long skilful movements. 

"This is the best way to find the pearls, " he muttered; and three of thefour people present stood and looked on at what he was doing. As for theone most concerned, Sylvia had again begun to stare dully before her, asif what was going on did not interest her one whit. 

At last Monsieur Wachner took a long spoon off the table; with its helphe put all that he had swept up--pearls, dust, and fluff--into the littlefancy bag. 

"There, " he said, with a sigh of relief, "I think they are all there. "

But even as he spoke he knew well enough that some of the pearls--perhapsfive or six--had found their way up his wife's capacious sleeve. 

And then, quite suddenly, Madame Wachner uttered a hoarse exclamation ofterror. One of the gendarmes had climbed up on to the window-sill, andwas now half into the room. She waddled quickly across to the door, onlyto find another gendarme in the hall. 

Sylvia's eyes glistened, and a sensation which had hitherto been quiteunknown to her took possession of her, soul and body. She longed forrevenge--revenge, not for herself so much as for her murdered friend. Sheclutched Paul by the arm. "They killed Anna Wolsky, " she whispered. "Sheis lying buried in the wood, where they meant to put me if you had notcome just--only just--in time!"

Paul de Virieu took Sylvia's hat off the dining-room table, and placed itin her hand, closing her fingers over the brim. With a mechanical gestureshe raised her arms and put it on her head. Then he ceremoniously offeredher his arm, and led her out of the dining-room into the hall. 

While actually within the Châlet des Muguets Count Paul only once brokesilence. That was when Madame Wachner, still talking volubly, held outher hand in farewell to the young Englishwoman. 

"I forbid you to touch her!" the Count muttered between his teeth, andSylvia, withdrawing her half-outstretched hand, meekly obeyed him. 

Paul de Virieu beckoned to the oldest of the police officials present. 

"You will remember the disappearance from Lacville of a Polish lady? Ihave reason to believe these people murdered her. When once I have placedMadame Bailey under medical care, I will return here. Meanwhile you, ofcourse, know what to do. "

"But M'sieur, ought I not to detain this English lady?"

"Certainly not. I make myself responsible for her. She is in no state tobear an interrogation. Lock up these people in separate rooms. I willsend you reinforcements, and to-morrow morning _dig up the little woodbehind the house_. "

Behind them came the gruff and the shrill tones of L'Ami Fritz and hiswife raised in indignant expostulation. 

"Are you coming, Sylvia?" called out Chester impatiently. 

He had gone on into the garden, unwilling to assume any responsibility asto the police. After all, there was no _evidence_, not what English lawwould recognise as evidence, against these people. 

Out in the darkness, with the two men, one on either side of her, Sylviawalked slowly to the gate. Between them they got her over it and into thevictoria. 

Paul de Virieu pulled out the little back seat, but Chester, taking quickpossession of it, motioned him to sit by Mrs. Bailey. 

"To Paris, Hôtel du Louvre, " the Count called out to the driver. "You cantake as long as you like over the journey!"

Then he bent forward to Chester, "The air will do her good, " he murmured. 

By his side, huddled up in a corner of the carriage, Sylvia lay backinertly; but her eyes were wide open, and she was staring hungrily at thesky, at the stars. She had never thought to see the sky and the starsagain. 

They were now moving very slowly, almost at a foot's pace. 

The driver was accustomed to people who suddenly decided to drive all theway back to Paris from Lacville after an evening's successful or, for thematter of that, unsuccessful play. He had been very much relieved to seehis two gentlemen come back from the châlet and to leave the gendarmesbehind. He had no wish to get mixed up in a _fracas_, no wish, that is, to have any embarrassments with the police. 

They drove on and on, into the open country; through dimly-lit, leafythoroughfares, through long stretches of market gardens, till they cameon to the outskirts of the great city--and still Sylvia remainedobstinately silent. 

Paul de Virieu leant forward. 

"Speak to her, " he said in an urgent whisper. "Take her hand and try torouse her, Mr. Chester. I feel very anxious about her condition. "

Chester in the darkness felt himself flushing. With a diffident, awkwardgesture he took Sylvia's hand in his--and then he uttered an exclamationof surprise and concern. 

The hand he held was quite cold--cold and nerveless to the touch, asif all that constitutes life had gone out of it. "My dear girl!" heexclaimed. "I'm afraid those people frightened you badly? I suppose youbegan to suspect they meant to steal your pearls?"

But Sylvia still remained obstinately silent. She did not want to speak, she only wanted to live. 

It was so strange to feel oneself alive--alive and whole at a time whenone had thought to be dead, having been done to death after an awful, disfiguring struggle--for Sylvia had determined to struggle to the endwith her murderers. 

"My God!" muttered Paul de Virieu. "Do you not understand, Chester, whathappened to-night? They meant to kill her!"

"To kill her?" repeated Chester incredulously. 

Then there came over him a rush and glow of angry excitement. Good God!If that was the case they ought to have driven back at once to theLacville police-station!

"Sylvia!" he exclaimed. "Rouse yourself, and tell us what took place! Ifwhat the Count says is true, something must be done, and at once!"

He turned to Paul de Virieu: "The police ought to take Mrs. Bailey's fullstatement of all that occurred without any loss of time!" All the lawyerin him spoke angrily, agitatedly. 

Sylvia moved slightly. Paul de Virieu could feel her shuddering by hisside. 

"Oh, Bill, let me try to forget!" she moaned. And then, lifting up hervoice, she wailed, "They killed Anna Wolsky--"

Her voice broke, and she began to sob convulsively. "I would not think ofher--I forced myself not to think of her--but now I shall never, neverthink of anyone else any more!"

Paul de Virieu turned in the kindly darkness, and putting his arm roundSylvia's slender shoulders, he tenderly drew her to him. 

A passion of pity, of protective tenderness, filled his heart, andsuddenly lifted him to a higher region than that in which he had hithertobeen content to dwell. 

"You must not say that, _ma chérie_, " he whispered, laying his cheek tohers as tenderly as he would have caressed a child, "it would be toocruel to the living, to those who love you--who adore you. "

Then he raised his head, and, in a very different tone, he exclaimed, "Do not be afraid, Mr. Chester, those infamous people shall not beallowed to escape! Poor Madame Wolsky shall surely be avenged. But Mrs. Bailey will not be asked to make any statement, except in writing--inwhat you in England call an affidavit. You do not realise, although youdoubtless know, what our legal procedure is like. Not even in order tosecure the guillotine for Madame Wachner and her Fritz would I exposeMrs. Bailey to the ordeal of our French witness-box. "

"And how will it be possible to avoid it?" asked Chester, in a low voice. 

Paul de Virieu hesitated, then, leaning forward and holding Sylvia stillmore closely and protectively to him, he said very deliberately thefateful words he had never thought to say, "I have an announcement to make to you, Mr. Chester. It is one which Itrust will bring me your true congratulations. Mrs. Bailey is about to dome the honour of becoming my wife. "

He waited a moment, then added very gravely, "I am giving her anundertaking, a solemn promise by all I hold most sacred, to abandonplay--"

Chester felt a shock of amazement. How utterly mistaken, how blind he hadbeen! He had felt positively certain that Sylvia had refused Paul deVirieu; and he had been angered by the suspicion, nay, by what he hadthought the sure knowledge, that the wise refusal had cost her pain. 

But women are extraordinary creatures, and so, for the matter of that, are Frenchmen--

Still, his feelings to the man sitting opposite to him had undergone acomplete change. He now liked--nay, he now respected--Paul de Virieu. Butfor the Count, whom he had thought to be nothing more than an effeminatedandy, a hopeless gambler, where would Sylvia be now? The unspoken answerto this question gave Chester a horrible inward tremor. 

He leant forward, and grasped Paul de Virieu's left hand. 

"I do congratulate you, " he said, simply and heartily; "you deserve yourgreat good fortune. " Then, to Sylvia, he added quietly, "My dear, it isto him you owe your life. "