“I suppose there are still many French houses without a bath-room,” she said.

“Yes,” said Madame Wachner quickly, “the French are not a clean people,”—­she shook her head scornfully.

“I suppose you keep your money in that box?” said Sylvia, looking at the brass-bound trunk.

“No, indeed! This is where I keep it!”

Madame Wachner suddenly lifted her thin alpaca skirt, and Sylvia, with astonishment, saw that hung round her capacious waist were a number of little wash-leather bags.  “My money is all ’ere!” exclaimed Madame Wachner, laughing heartily.  “It rests—­oh, so cosily—­against my petticoat.”

They went back into the kitchen.  The water was boiling, and Sylvia made the tea, Madame Wachner looking on with eager interest.

“La!  La! it will be strong!  I only put a pinch for ourselves.  And now go into the dining-room, and I will bring the teapot there to you, Madame!”

“No, no,” said Sylvia laughing, “why should we not drink our tea here, in this pretty kitchen?”

The other looked at her doubtfully.  “Shall we?”

“Yes, of course!” cried Sylvia.

They drew up two rush-bottomed chairs to the table and sat down.

Sylvia thoroughly enjoyed this first taste of Madame Wachner’s hospitality.  The drive and the great heat had made her feel tired and languid, and the tea did her good.

“I will go and see if the carriage is there,” said Madame Wachner at last.

While her hostess was away, Sylvia looked round her with some curiosity.

What an extraordinary mode of life these people had chosen for themselves!  If the Wachners were rich enough to gamble, surely they had enough money to live more comfortably than they were now doing?  It was clear that they hardly used the dining-room and drawing-room of the little villa at all.  When Sylvia had been looking for the butter, she had not been able to help seeing that in the tiny larder there was only a small piece of cheese, a little cold meat, and a couple of eggs on a plate.  No wonder Monsieur Wachner had heartily enjoyed the copious, if rather roughly-prepared, meal at the Pension Malfait.

“Yes, the carriage is there,” said Madame Wachner bustling back.  “And now we must be quick, or L’Ami Fritz will be cross!  Do you know that absurd man actually still thinks ’e is master, and yet we ’ave been married—­oh, I do not know ’ow many years!  But he always loves seeing me even after we ’ave been separated but two hours or so!”

Together they went out, Madame Wachner carefully locking the door and hiding the key where she had found it, under the mat outside.

Sylvia could not help laughing.

“I really wonder you do that,” she observed.  “Just think how easy it would be for anyone to get into the house!”

“Yes, that is true, but there is nothing to steal.  As I tell you, we always carry our money about with us,” said Madame Wachner.  She added in a serious tone, “and I should advise you to do so too, my dear young friend.”