And then her mind travelled on, far, far away, to a picture with which she had been familiar from her girlhood, for it hung in the drawing-room of one of her father’s friends at Market Dalling.  It was called “The Gambler’s Wife.”  She had always thought it a very pretty and pathetic picture; but she no longer thought it so; in fact, it now appeared to her to be a ridiculous travesty of life.  Gamblers were just like other people, neither better nor worse—­and often infinitely more lovable than were some other people....

At last Sylvia got up, and slowly made her way out of the wood.  She did not go back through the Wachners’ garden; instead, she struck off to the left, 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 at last!  Early this afternoon I had a telegram from her asking me to send her 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 really unkind of her not to have written and relieved the anxiety which she must have known her English friend would be feeling about her!

“I have had Madame Wolsky’s room beautifully prepared for the English gentleman,” went on Madame Malfait amiably.  She was pleased that Mrs. Bailey was giving her a new guest, and it also amused her to observe what prudes Englishwomen could be.

Fancy putting a man who had come all the way from England to see one, in a pension situated at the other end of the town to where one was living oneself!

CHAPTER XIX

William Chester, solicitor, and respected citizen of Market Dalling, felt rather taken aback and bewildered as he joined the great stream of people who were pouring out of the large suburban station of Lacville.

He had only arrived in Paris two hours before, and after a hasty dinner at the Gare du Nord he had made inquiries as to his best way of reaching Lacville.  And then he was told, to his surprise, that from the very station in which he found himself trains started every few minutes to the spot for which he was bound.

“To-night,” added the man of whom he had inquired, “there is a fine fete at Lacville, including fireworks on the lake!”

Chester had imagined Sylvia to be staying in a quiet village or little country town.  That was the impression her brief letters to him had conveyed, and he was astonished to hear that Lacville maintained so large and constant a train service.

Sylvia had written that she would engage a room for him at the boarding-house where she was staying; and Chester, who was very tired after his long, hot journey, looked forward to a pleasant little chat with her, followed by a good night’s rest.