Sending for the hotel-keeper, he curtly told him that he meant to leave Lacville that evening.

M. Malfait expressed much sorrow and regret.  Was M’sieur not comfortable?  Was there anything he could do to prolong his English guest’s stay?

No, M’sieur had every reason to be satisfied, but—­but had M. Malfait ever had any complaints of noises in the bed-room occupied by his English guest?

The Frenchman’s surprise and discomfiture seemed quite sincere; but Chester, looking into his face, suspected that the wondering protests, the assertion that this particular bed-room was the quietest in the house, were not sincere.  In this, however he wronged poor M. Malfait.

Chester went upstairs and packed.  There seemed to be a kind of finality in the act.  If she knew he was ready to start that night, Sylvia would not be able to persuade him to stay on, as she probably would try to do.

At the Villa du Lac he was greeted with, “Madame Bailey is in the garden with the Comte de Virieu”—­and he thought he saw a twinkle in merry little M. Polperro’s eyes.

Poor Sylvia!  Poor, foolish, wilful Sylvia!  Was it conceivable that after what she had seen the night before she still liked, she still respected, that mad French gambler?

He looked over the wide lawn; no, there was no sign of Sylvia and the Count.  Then, all at once, coming through a door which gave access, as he knew, to the big kitchen-garden of the villa, he saw Mrs. Bailey’s graceful figure; a few steps behind her walked Count Paul.

Chester hurried towards them.  How odd they both looked—­and how ill at ease!  The Comte de Virieu looked wretched, preoccupied, and gloomy—­as well he might do, considering the large sum of money he had lost last night.  As for Sylvia—­yes, there could be no doubt about it—­she had been crying!  When she saw Chester coming towards her, she instinctively tilted her garden hat over her face to hide her reddened eyelids.  He felt at once sorry for, and angry with, her.

“I came early in order to tell you,” he said abruptly, “that I find I must leave Lacville to-day!  The man whom I am expecting to join me in Switzerland is getting impatient, so I’ve given notice to the Pension Malfait—­in fact, I’ve already packed.”

Sylvia gave him a listless glance, and made no comment on his news.

Chester felt rather nettled.  “You, I suppose, will be staying on here for some time?” he said.

“I don’t know,” she answered in a low voice.  “I haven’t made up my mind how long I shall stay here.”

“I also am leaving Lacville,” said the Comte de Virieu.

And then, as he saw, or fancied he saw, a satirical expression pass over the Englishman’s face, he added rather haughtily: 

“Strange to say, my luck turned last night—­I admit I did not deserve it—­and I left off with a good deal to the good.  However, I feel I have played enough for a while, and, as I have been telling Mrs. Bailey, I think it would do me good to go away.  In fact”—­and then Count Paul gave an odd little laugh—­“I also am going to Switzerland!  In old days I was a member of our Alpine Club.”