Again the hotel-keeper stared at her with a questioning look.  Was it possible that pretty Madame Bailey did not know what was the real attraction of Lacville?  Yet it was not his business to run the place down—­as a matter of fact, he and his wife had invested nearly a thousand pounds of their hard-earned savings in their relation’s hotel, the Villa du Lac.  If Madame Bailey really wanted to leave salubrious, beautiful Paris for the summer, why should she not go to Lacville instead of to dull, puritanical, stupid Switzerland?

These thoughts rushed through the active brain of M. Girard with amazing quickness.

“Many people go to Lacville in order to play baccarat,” he said lightly.

And then Sylvia knew why Anna Wolsky had gone to Lacville.

“But apart from the play, Lacville is a little paradise, Madame,” he went on enthusiastically.  “It is a beauteous spot, just like a scene in an opera.  There is the romantic lake, edged with high, shady trees and princely villas—­and then the gay, the delightful Casino!”

“And is there a train soon?”

“I will look Madame out a train this moment, and I will also give her one of my cousin Polperro’s cards.  Madame has, of course, heard of the Empress Eugenie?  Well, the Villa du Lac once belonged to one of the Empress’s gentlemen-in-waiting.  The very highest nobility stay at the Villa du Lac with my cousin.  At this very moment he has Count Paul de Virieu, the brother-in-law of a duke, among his clients—­”

M. Girard had noticed the British fondness for titles.

“You see, Madame, my cousin was chef to the Emperor of Brazil’s sister—­this has given him a connection among the nobility.  In the winter he has an hotel at Mentone,” he was looking up the train while he chatted happily.

“There is a train every ten minutes,” he said at last, “from the Gare du Nord.  Or, if Madame prefers it, she could walk up from here to the Square of the Trinite and take the tramway; but it is quicker and pleasanter to go by train—­unless, indeed, Madame wishes to offer herself the luxury of an automobile.  That, alas!  I fear would cost Madame twenty to thirty francs.”

“Of course I will go by train,” said Sylvia, smiling, “and I will lunch at your cousin’s hotel, M. Girard.”

It would be quite easy to find Anna, or so she thought, for Anna would be at the Casino.  Sylvia felt painfully interested in her friend’s love of gambling.  It was so strange that Anna was not ashamed of it.

And then as she drove to the great railway terminus, from which a hundred and twenty trains start daily for Lacville, it seemed to Sylvia that the whole of Paris was placarded with the name of the place she was now about to visit for the first time!

On every hoarding, on every bare piece of wall, were spread large, flamboyant posters showing a garish but not unattractive landscape.  There was the sun sparkling on a wide stretch of water edged with high trees, and gay with little sailing boats, each boat with its human freight of two lovers.  Jutting out into the blue lake was a great white building, which Sylvia realised must be the Casino.  And under each picture ran the words “Lacville-les-Bains” printed in very black letters.