The Essential Writings of Marie Belloc Lowndes - Marie Belloc Lowndes

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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 only too sure, would win Sylvia in time.

      "Shall we go in and find out the time of the Swiss express?" he asked the other 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 blindly on 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. Then they were both going away—both going to leave her?

      After to-day—how strange, how utterly unnatural the parting seemed—she would 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 drive in the afternoon—the expedition had been arranged the day before with the Wachners, and there seemed no valid reason why it should be put off.

      And then Madame Wachner with her usual impulsive good nature, on hearing that both Chester and the Comte de Virieu were going away, warmly invited Sylvia to supper at the Châlet des Muguets for that same night, and Sylvia listlessly accepted. She did not care what she did or where she went.

      At last came the moment of parting.

      "I'll go and see you off at the station," she said, and Chester, rather surprised, raised one or two objections. "I'm determined to come," she cried angrily. "What a pity it is, Bill, that you always try and manage other 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 last time, had become frightfully pale, and as she made her way back to the Casino, where the Wachners were actually waiting for her, Sylvia was haunted by his reproachful, despairing eyes.

      Chapter XXIV

       Table of Contents

      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 visitors to Lacville—had not yet arrived from Paris.

      "And now," said Madame Wachner, suddenly, "is it not time for us to go and 'ave our little supper?"

      The "citizeness of the world" had been watching her husband and Sylvia playing 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 ornately decorated gambling room seemed full of his presence.

      She made a great effort to put any intimate thought of him away. The next day, so she told herself, she would go back to England, to Market Dalling. 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 she had eaten, in more than one sense, of the bitter fruit of the tree of knowledge.

      With a deep, involuntary sigh, she rose from the table.

      She looked at the green cloth, at the people standing round it, with an odd feeling that neither the table nor the people round her were quite real. Her heart and thoughts were far away, with the two men both of whom loved her in their very different ways.

      Then she turned with an unmirthful smile to her companions. It would not be fair to let her private griefs sadden the kindly Wachners. It was really good of them to have asked her to come back to supper at the Châlet des Muguets. She would have found it terribly lonely this evening at the Villa du Lac....

      "I am quite ready," she said, addressing herself more particularly to Madame Wachner; and the three walked out of the Club rooms.

      "Shall we take a carriage?" Sylvia asked diffidently; she knew her stout friend disliked walking.

      "No, no," said Monsieur Wachner shortly. "There is no need to take a carriage to-night; it is so fine, and, besides, it is not very far."

      He so seldom interfered or negatived any suggestion that Sylvia felt a little surprised, the more so that it was really a long walk from the Casino to the lonely Châlet des Muguets. But as Madame Wachner had nodded assent to her husband's words, their English guest said no more.

      They started out into the moonlit night, Sylvia with her light, springing step keeping pace with L'Ami Fritz, while his wife lagged a step behind. But, as was usual with him, M. Wachner remained silent, while his companions talked.

      To-night, however, Madame Wachner did not show her usual tact; she began discussing the two travellers who were now well started, no doubt, on their way to Switzerland, and she expressed contemptuous surprise that the Comte de Virieu had left Lacville.

      "I am glad 'e 'as gone away," she said cheerfully, "for the Count is what English people call so supercilious—so different to that excellent Mr. Chester! I wonder Mr. Chester was willing for the Count's company. But you 'ave not lost 'im, my pretty Sylvia! 'E will soon be back!"

      As she spoke she laughed coarsely, and Sylvia made no answer. She thought it probable that she would never see the Comte de Virieu again, and the conviction 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—far longer than it had seemed the last time Sylvia had walked there, when Count Paul had been her companion. It seemed as if an immense time had gone by since then....

      Sylvia was glad when at last the three of them came within sight of the familiar 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 Fritz had not opened his lips once during the walk from the Casino, "I wonder that you and Madame Wachner are not afraid to leave the châlet alone for so 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 all our money about with us—all sensible people do so at Lacville and at Monte Carlo."

      Madame Wachner was now on Sylvia's other side.

      "Yes," she interposed, rather breathlessly, "that is so; and I 'ope that you, dear friend, followed the advice we gave you about the matter? I mean, I 'ope you do not leave your money in the hotel?"

      "Of course I don't," said Sylvia, smiling. "Ever since you gave me those pretty 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 have got 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 knew everything!" and Sylvia's hostess laughed in the darkness her hearty, jovial laugh.

      Suddenly she bent forward and addressed her husband. "By the way, Ami Fritz, have you written that letter to the Villa du Lac?" She nodded, explaining to Sylvia, "We are anxious to get a room in your beautiful pension for a rich friend of ours."

      Sylvia had the instant feeling—she could not have told why—that his wife's question had greatly annoyed Monsieur Wachner.

      "Of course I have written the letter!" he snapped out. "Do I ever forget anything?"

      "But I'm afraid there is no room vacant in the Villa du Lac," said Sylvia. "And yet—well, I suppose they have not yet had time to let

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