“You are awfully kind!” said Chester heartily—­and, indeed, he did feel this entire stranger’s kindness exceptional.

How fortunate that Sylvia had come across such a nice, simple, kindly woman in such a queer place as Lacville!

But Madame Wachner’s good-natured proposal had never to be seriously considered, for when her vigorous hand found and pulled the bell there came sounds in the courtyard beyond, and a moment later the door swung open.

“Who’s there?” cried M. Malfait in a loud voice.

“It is the English gentleman, Mrs. Bailey’s friend,” said Madame Wachner quickly; and at once the Frenchman’s voice softened.

“Ah! we had quite given up M’sieur,” he said amiably.  “Come in, come in!  Yes, the bag has arrived; but people often send their luggage before they come themselves.  Just as they sometimes leave their luggage after they themselves have departed!”

Chester was shaking hands cordially with the Wachners.

“Thank you for all your kindness,” he said heartily.  “I hope we shall meet again soon!  I shall certainly be here for some days.  Perhaps you will allow me to call on you?”

Once the good-natured couple had walked off arm in arm into the night, the door of the Pension Malfait was locked and barred, and Chester followed his landlord into the long, dark house.

“One has to be careful.  There are so many queer characters about,” said M. Malfait; and then, “Will M’sieur have something to eat?  A little refreshment, a bottle of lemonade, or of pale ale?  We have splendid Bass’s ale,” he said, solicitously.

But the Englishman shook his head, smiling.  “Oh, no,” he said slowly, in his bad French, “I dined in Paris.  All I need now is a good night’s rest.”

“And that M’sieur will certainly have,” said the landlord civilly.  “Lacville is famous for its sleep-producing qualities.  That is why so many Parisians content themselves with coming here instead of going further afield.”

They were walking through the lower part of the house, and then suddenly M. Malfait exclaimed, “I was forgetting the bath-room!  I know how important to English gentlemen the bath-room is!”

The pleasant vista of a good hot bath floated before Chester’s weary brain and body.  Really the house was not as primitive as he had thought it when he had seen the landlord come forward with a candle.

M. Malfait turned round and flung open a door.

“It was an idea of my wife’s,” he said proudly.  “You see, M’sieur, the apartment serves a double purpose—­”

And it did!  For the odd little room into which Chester was shown by his host served as store cupboard as well as bath-room.  It was lined with shelves on which stood serried rows of pots of home-made jam, jars of oil and vinegar, and huge tins of rice, vermicelli, and tapioca, in a corner a round zinc basin—­but a basin of Brobdignagian size—­stood under a cold water tap.