“I am so sorry,” she went on, breathlessly, “so very sorry!  What a wretch you must have thought me!  But I have got you such a nice room in a pension where a friend of mine was for a time.  I couldn’t get you anything at the Villa du Lac.  But you can have all your meals with me there.  It’s such good cooking, and there’s a lovely garden, Bill—­”

Chester said nothing.  He was still looking at her, trying to readjust his old ideas and ideals of Sylvia Bailey to her present environment.

Sylvia suddenly grew very red.  After all, Bill Chester was not her keeper!  He had no right to look as angry, as—­as disgusted as he was now doing.

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 and Mrs. Bailey were standing.  Her husband lagged a little way behind, his eyes still following the play.  Indeed, even as his wife spoke L’Ami Fritz made a note in the little book he held in his hand.  When in the Baccarat Room he was absolutely absorbed in the play going on.  Nothing could really distract him from it.

Sylvia felt and looked relieved.

“Oh, Bill,” she exclaimed, “let me introduce you to Madame Wachner?  She has 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 she spoke English well, even if she did drop her aitches!

“It is getting rather late”—­Chester turned to Sylvia, but he spoke quite pleasantly.

“Yes, we must be going; are you staying on?” Sylvia was addressing the woman she had just introduced to Chester, but her eyes were wandering towards the gambling table.  Perhaps she had suddenly remembered her five louis.

Chester smiled a little grimly to himself.  He wondered if Sylvia would be surprised to hear that her neighbour, the fair Frenchman to whom she had been talking so familiarly, had “collared” her stakes and her winnings.

“No, indeed!  We, too, must be going ’ome.  Come, Fritz, it is getting late.”  The devoted wife spoke rather crossly.  They all four turned, and slowly 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-looking Englishman.  She had seen him long before Sylvia had done so, and had watched him with some attention, guessing almost at once that he must be the man for whom Mrs. Bailey had waited dinner.

“I suppose that this is your first visit to Lacville?” she observed smiling.  “Very few of your countrymen come ’ere, sir, but it is an interesting and curious place—­more really curious than is Monte Carlo.”

She lowered her voice a little, but Chester heard her next words very clearly.