Chester was rather touched, as well as surprised.  But what queer, emotional fellows Frenchmen are to be sure!  Although Count Paul, as Sylvia used to call him, had evidently been a little bit in love with her himself, he was quite willing to think of her as married to another man!

But—­but there was the rub!  Chester was no longer so sure that he wanted to marry Sylvia.  She had become a different woman—­she seemed to be another Sylvia to the one he had always known.

“I’ll just come out and tell you that it’s all right,” he said a little awkwardly.  “But I wish you’d come in—­if only for a minute.  Mrs. Bailey would be so pleased to see you.”

“No, no,” muttered the other.  “Believe me, she would not!”

Chester jumped out of the carriage and ran quickly up the stone steps, and rang the bell.

The door was opened by M. Polperro himself.  Even busier than usual was the merry, capable little chef, for as it happened Madame Polperro had had to go away for two or three days.

“I want to know,” said Chester abruptly, “if you can let me have a room for to-night?  The room the Comte de Virieu occupied is, I suppose, disengaged?”

“I will see, M’sieur—­I will inquire!”

M. Polperro did not know what to make of this big Englishman who had come in out of the night, bringing no luggage with him but one little bag.

Then he suddenly remembered!  Why, of course, this was the friend of the pretty, charming, wealthy Madame Bailey; the English gentleman who had been staying during the past few days at the Pension Malfait!  A gentleman who was called after a well-known cheese—­yes, Chester was his name.

Then this Mr. Chester’s departure from Lacville had been a fausse sortie—­a ruse to get rid of the Comte de Virieu, who was also in love with the lovely young English widow?

Ah!  Ah!  M. Polperro felt very much amused.  Never had he heard of anything so droll!  But the Englishman’s tale of love was not to run smooth after all, for now another complication had arisen, and the very last one any sensible man would have expected!

“Yes, M’sieur,” said M. Polperro demurely, “it is all right!  I had forgotten!  As you say, the Comte de Virieu’s room is now empty, but”—­he hesitated, and with a sly look added, “indeed we have another room empty to-night—­a far finer room, with a view over the lake—­the room Madame Bailey occupied.”

“The room Mrs. Bailey occupied?” echoed Chester.  “Has Mrs. Bailey changed her room to-day?”

“Oh, no, M’sieur!  She left Lacville this very evening.  I have but just now received a letter from her.”

The little man could hardly keep serious.  Oh! those Englishmen, who are said to be so cold!  When in love they behave just like other people.

For Chester was staring at him with puzzled, wrathful eyes.

“Ah! what a charming lady, M’sieur; Madame Polperro and I shall miss her greatly.  We hoped to keep Madame Bailey all the summer.  But perhaps she will come back—­now that M’sieur has returned.”  He really could not resist that last thrust.