They started out into the moonlit night, Sylvia with her light, springing step keeping pace with L’Ami Fritz, while his wife lagged a step behind.  But, as was usual with him, M. Wachner remained silent, while his companions talked.

To-night, however, Madame Wachner did not show her usual tact; she began discussing the two travellers who were now well started, no doubt, on their way to Switzerland, and she expressed contemptuous surprise that the Comte de Virieu had left Lacville.

“I am glad ’e ’as gone away,” she said cheerfully, “for the Count is what English people call so supercilious—­so different to that excellent Mr. Chester!  I wonder Mr. Chester was willing for the Count’s company.  But you ’ave not lost ’im, my pretty Sylvia!  ’E will soon be back!”

As she spoke she laughed coarsely, and Sylvia made no answer.  She thought it probable that she would never see the Comte de Virieu again, and the conviction hurt intolerably.  It was painful to be reminded of him now, in this way, and by a woman who she knew disliked and despised him.

She suddenly felt sorry that she had accepted the Wachner’s invitation.

To-night the way to the Chalet des Muguets seemed longer than usual—­far longer than it had seemed the last time Sylvia had walked there, when Count Paul had been her companion.  It seemed as if an immense time had gone by since then....

Sylvia was glad when at last the three of them came within sight of the familiar white gate.  How strangely lonely the little house looked, standing back in the twilit darkness of a summer night.

“I wonder”—­Sylvia Bailey looked up at her silent companion, L’Ami Fritz had not opened his lips once during the walk from the Casino, “I wonder that you and Madame Wachner are not afraid to leave the chalet alone for so many hours of each day!  Your servant always goes away after lunch, doesn’t she?”

“There is nothing to steal,” he answered shortly.  “We always carry all our money about with us—­all sensible people do so at Lacville and at Monte Carlo.”

Madame Wachner was now on Sylvia’s other side.

“Yes,” she interposed, rather breathlessly, “that is so; and I ’ope that you, dear friend, followed the advice we gave you about the matter?  I mean, I ’ope you do not leave your money in the hotel?”

“Of course I don’t,” said Sylvia, smiling.  “Ever since you gave me those pretty little leather pouches I always carry all my money about with me, strapped round my waist.  At first it wasn’t very comfortable, but I have got quite used to it now.”

“That is right,” said Madame Wachner, heartily, “that is quite right!  There are rogues everywhere, perhaps even in the Villa du Lac, if we knew everything!” and Sylvia’s hostess laughed in the darkness her hearty, jovial laugh.

Suddenly she bent forward and addressed her husband.  “By the way, Ami Fritz, have you written that letter to the Villa du Lac?” She nodded, explaining to Sylvia, “We are anxious to get a room in your beautiful pension for a rich friend of ours.”