A ray of bright sunlight streamed in through the curtains she had pinned together the night before.  And her travelling clock told her that it was not yet six.  But Sylvia jumped out of bed, and, drawing back the curtains, she looked out, and across the lake.

The now solitary expanse of water seemed to possess a new beauty in the early morning sunlight, and the white Casino, of which the minarets were reflected in its blue depths, might have been a dream palace.  Nothing broke the intense stillness but the loud, sweet twittering of the birds in the trees which surrounded the lake.

But soon the spell was broken.  When the six strokes of the hour chimed out from the old parish church which forms the centre of the town of Lacville, as if by enchantment there rose sounds of stir both indoors and out.

A woman came out of the lodge of the Villa du Lac, and slowly opened the great steel and gilt gates.

Sylvia heard the rush of bath water, even the queer click-click of a shower bath.  M. Polperro evidently insisted on an exceptional standard of cleanliness for his household.

Sylvia felt fresh and well.  The languor induced by the heat of Paris had left her.  There seemed no reason why she should not get up too, and even go out of doors if so the fancy pleased her.

She had just finished dressing when there came curious sounds from the front of the Villa, and again she went over to her window.

A horse was being walked up and down on the stones of the courtyard in front of the horseshoe stairway which led up to the hall door.  It was not yet half-past six.  Who could be going to ride at this early hour of the morning?

Soon her unspoken question was answered; for the Comte de Virieu, clad in riding breeches and a black jersey, came out of the house, and close on his heels trotted M. Polperro, already wearing his white chef’s cap and apron.

Sylvia could hear his “M’sieur le Comte” this, and “M’sieur le Comte” that, and she smiled a little to herself.  The owner of the Hotel du Lac was very proud of his noble guest.

The Comte de Virieu was also laughing and talking; he was more animated than she had yet seen him.  Sylvia told herself that he looked very well in his rather odd riding dress.

Waving a gay adieu to mine host, he vaulted into the saddle, and then rode out of the gates, and so sharply to the left.

Sylvia wondered if he were going for a ride in the Forest of Montmorency, which, in her lying guide-book, was mentioned as the principal attraction of Lacville.

There came a knock at the door, and Sylvia, calling out “Come in!” was surprised, and rather amused, to see that it was M. Polperro himself who opened it.

“I have come to ask if Madame has slept well,” he observed, “and also to know if she would like an English breakfast?  If yes, it shall be laid in the dining-room, unless Madame would rather have it up here.”