“And was it long before they found him?” asked Sylvia in a low tone.

“They never did find ’im,” said Madame Wachner, her voice sinking to a whisper.  “That was the extraordinary thing—­Sasha’s body was never found!  Many people thought the money ’e ’ad on ’is person weighed ’im down, kept ’im entangled in the weeds at the bottom of the lake.  Did not your friend tell you it made talk?”

“Yes,” said Sylvia.

“’E ’ad not much money on ’is person,” repeated Madame Wachner, “but still there was a good deal more than was found in ’is bed-room.  That, of course, was ’anded over to the authorities.  They insisted on keeping it.”

“But I suppose his family got it in the end?” said Sylvia.

“No.  ’E ’ad no family.  You see, our friend was a Russian nobleman, but he had also been a Nihilist, so ’e ’ad concealed ’is identity.  It was fortunate for us that we ’ad got to know an important person in the police; but for that we might ’ave ’ad much worry”—­she shook her head.  “They were so much annoyed that poor Sasha ’ad no passport.  But, as I said to them—­for Fritz quite lost ’is ’ead, and could say nothing—­not ’alf, no, not a quarter of the strangers in Aix ’as passports, though, of course, it is a good and useful thing to ’ave one.  I suppose, Madame, that you ’ave a passport?”

She stopped short, and looked at Sylvia with that eager, inquiring look which demands an answer even to the most unimportant question.

“A passport?” repeated Sylvia Bailey, surprised.  “No, indeed!  I’ve never even seen one.  Why should I have a passport?”

“When you are abroad it is always a good thing to ’ave a passport,” said Madame Wachner quickly.  “You see, it enables you to be identified.  It gives your address at ’ome.  But I do not think that you can get one now—­no, it is a thing that one must get in one’s own country, or, at any rate,” she corrected herself, “in a country where you ’ave resided a long time.”

“What is your country, Madame?” asked Sylvia.  “Are you French?  I suppose Monsieur Wachner is German?”

Madame Wachner shook her head.

“Oh, ’e would be cross to ’ear that!  No, no, Fritz is Viennese—­a gay Viennese!  As for me, I am”—­she waited a moment—­“well, Madame, I am what the French call ’une vraie cosmopolite’—­oh, yes, I am a true citizeness of the world.”

CHAPTER VIII

They had been driving a considerable time, and at last the coachman, turning round on his seat, asked where they wished to go next.

“I ask you to come and ’ave tea with me,” said Madame Wachner turning to Sylvia.  “We are not very far from the Chalet des Muguets, and I ’ave some excellent tea there.  We will ’ave a rest, and tell the man to come back for us in one hour.  What do you think of that, Madame?”

“It is very kind of you,” said Sylvia gratefully; and, indeed, she did think it very kind.  It would be pleasant to rest a while in the Wachner’s villa and have tea there.