It was nine o’clock when he got into the Lacville train, and again he was vaguely surprised to see what a large number of people were bound for the place.  It was clear that something special must be going on there to-night, and that “the fireworks on the lake” must be on a very splendid scale.

When he arrived at Lacville, he joined the great throng of people, who were laughing and talking, each and all in holiday mood, and hailed an open carriage outside the station.  “To the Villa du Lac!” he cried.

The cab could only move slowly through the crowd of walkers, and when it finally emerged out of the narrow streets of the town it stopped a moment, as if the driver wished his English fare to gaze at the beautiful panorama spread out before his eyes.

Dotted over the lake, large and mysterious in the starlit night, floated innumerable tiny crafts, each gaily hung with a string of coloured lanterns.  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 up against the sky, was outlined in twinkling lights.

The cab moved on, only for a few yards however, and then drove quickly through high gates, and stopped with a jerk in front of a stone staircase.

“It cannot be here,” said Chester incredulously to himself.  “This looks more 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, rang the 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 Chester of 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 relief that at last his journey was ended, took his bag off the cab, and dismissed the man.

What a delightful, spacious house!  Sylvia had not been so very foolish after 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 to the Casino!  But Madame did wait for M’sieur till half-past nine; then she concluded that he must mean to spend the night in Paris.”

“Do you mean that Mrs. Bailey has gone out?” asked Chester, surprised and disappointed.

“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 attraction of our delightful and salubrious Lacville.”

Chester had not much sense of humour, but he could not help smiling to himself at the other’s pompous words.