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 ten days ago, the Wachners were in considerable difficulty about money.  Then suddenly they seemed to have found plenty, in fact, to be as we say here, ‘a flot’; I confess that I foolishly imagined, nay, I almost hoped, that they owed this temporary prosperity to you!  But of course I had no business to think about it at all—­still less any business to speak to you about the matter.  Forgive me, I will not so err again.”

And then, with one of his sudden, stiff bows, the Comte de Virieu turned on his heel, leaving Sylvia to make her way alone to the little wooden gate on which were painted the words “Chalet des Muguets.”

CHAPTER XVIII

Sylvia pushed open the little white gate of the Chalet des Muguets and began walking up the path which lay through the neglected, untidy garden.

To eyes accustomed to the exquisitely-kept gardens of an English country town, there was something almost offensive in the sight presented by the high, coarse grass and luxuriant unkemptness of the place, and once more Sylvia wondered how the Wachners could bear to leave the land surrounding their temporary home in such a state.

But the quaint, fantastic-looking, one-storeyed chalet amused and rather interested her, for it was so entirely unlike any other dwelling with which she was acquainted.

To-day a deep, hot calm brooded over the silent house and deserted-looking garden; the chocolate-coloured shutters of the dining-room and the drawing-room were closed, and Sylvia told herself that it would be delightful to pass from the steamy heat outside into the dimly-lighted, sparsely-furnished little “salon,” there to have a cup of tea and a pleasant chat with her friends before accompanying them in the cool of the early evening to the Casino.

Sylvia always enjoyed talking to Madame Wachner.  She was a little bit ashamed that this was so, for this cosmopolitan woman’s conversation was not always quite refined, but she was good-natured and lively, and her talk was invariably amusing.  Above all, she knew how to flatter, and after a chat with Madame Wachner Sylvia Bailey always felt pleased both with 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.  She was aware for instance, that Sylvia had no close relations of her own, and that, like Anna Wolsky, Mrs. Bailey knew nobody—­she had not even an acquaintance—­living in Paris.

This fact had enlisted to a special degree Madame Wachner’s interest and liking for the two young widows.

Sylvia rang the primitive bell which hung by the door which alone gave access, apart from the windows, to the Chalet des Muguets.