That which Anna had engaged had a window looking over the back of the house; Sylvia thought it singularly cheerless.  There was, however, a good arm-chair and a writing-table on which lay a new-looking blotter.  It was the only bed-room containing such a luxury.

“An English lady was staying here not very long ago,” observed M. Malfait, “and she bought that table and left it to me as a little gift when she went away.  That was very gracious on her part!”

They glanced into the rather mournful-looking salon, of which the windows opened out on the tiny garden.  And then M. Malfait led them proudly into the dining-room, with its one long table, running down the middle, on which at intervals were set dessert dishes filled with the nuts, grapes, and oranges of which Sylvia had already become so weary at the Hotel de l’Horloge.

“My clientele,” said M. Malfait gravely, “is very select and chic.  Those of my guests who frequent the Casino all belong to the Club!”

He stated the fact proudly, and Sylvia was amused to notice that in this matter he and mine host at the Villa du Lac apparently saw eye to eye.  Both were eager to dissociate themselves from the ordinary gambler who lost or won a few francs in those of the gambling rooms open to the general public.

“Well,” said Anna at last, “I suppose we had better leave now, but we might as well go on driving for about an hour, and then, when it is a little cooler, we will go back to Paris and be there in time for tea.”

The driver was as good-natured as everyone else at Lacville seemed to be.  He drove his fares away from the town, and so to the very outskirts of Lacville, where there were many charming bits of wild woodland and gardens up for sale.

“Even five years ago,” he said, “much of this was forest, Mesdames; but now—­well, Dame!—­you can understand people are eager to sell.  There are rumours that the Concession may be withdrawn from the Casino—­that would be terrible, some say it would kill Lacville!  It would be all the same to me, I should always find work elsewhere.  But it makes everyone eager to sell—­those, I mean, who have land at Lacville.  There are others,” continued the man—­he had turned round on his seat, and the horse was going at a foot’s pace—­“who declare that it would be far better for the town—­that there would be a more solid population established here—­you understand, Mesdames, what I mean?  The Lacville tradesmen would be as pleased, quite as pleased, or so some of them say; but, all the same, they are selling their land!”

When the two friends finally got back to the Hotel de l’Horloge, Sylvia Bailey found that a letter, which had not been given to her that morning, contained the news that the English friends whom she had been expecting to join in Switzerland the following week had altered their plans, and were no longer going abroad.

CHAPTER V