When she got to the Gare du Nord the same advertisement stared down at her from the walls of the station and of the waiting-rooms.

It was certainly odd that she had never heard of Lacville, and that the place had never been mentioned to her by any of those of her English acquaintances who thought they knew Paris so well.

The Lacville train was full of happy, chattering people.  In her first-class carriage she had five fellow-travellers—­a man and woman and three children.  They looked cheerful, prosperous people, and soon the husband and wife began talking eagerly together.

“I really think,” said the lady suddenly, “that we might have chosen some other place than Lacville in which to spend to-day!  There are many places the children would have enjoyed more.”

“But there is no place,” said her husband in a jovial tone, “where I can spend an amusing hour in the afternoon.”

“Ah, my friend, I feared that was coming!” exclaimed his wife, shaking her head.  “But remember what happened the last time we were at Lacville—­I mean the afternoon when you lost seventy francs!”

“But you forget that other afternoon!” answered the man eagerly.  “I mean the afternoon when I made a hundred francs, and bought you and the children a number of delightful little gifts with the money!”

Sylvia was amused.  How quaint and odd French people were!  She could not imagine such an interchange of words between an English husband and wife, especially before a stranger.  And then her amusement was further increased, for the youngest child, a boy of about six, cried out that he also wished to go to the Casino with his dear papa.

“No, no, my sweet cabbage, that will happen quite soon enough, when thou art older!  If thou art in the least like thy father, there will certainly come a time when thou also wilt go and lose well-earned money at the Tables,” said his mother tenderly.

“But if I win, then I shall buy thee a present,” said the sweet cabbage coaxingly.

Sylvia looked out of the window.  These happy, chattering people made her feel lonely, and even a little depressed.

The country through which the train was passing was very flat and ugly—­in fact, it could scarcely be called country at all.  And when at last they drew up into the large station of what was once a quiet, remote village where Parisian invalids, too poor to go elsewhere, came to take medicinal waters, she felt a pang of disappointment.  Lacville, as seen from the railway, is an unattractive place.

“Is this Madame’s first visit to Lacville?” asked her fellow-traveller, helping her out of the railway carriage.  “If so, Madame would doubtless like to make her way to the lake.  Would she care to accompany us thither?”

Sylvia hesitated.  She almost felt inclined to go back to Paris by the next train.  She told herself that there was no hope of finding Anna in such a large place, and that it was unlikely that this dreary-looking town would offer anything in the least pleasant or amusing on a very hot day.