Again and again she went over in retrospect every moment of the two hours she had spent in that great house in the Faubourg St. Germain.

How kind these two ladies had been to her, Paul’s gentle sister and his stately little fairy-like godmother!  But the Duchesse’s manner had been very formal, almost solemn; and as for the other—­Sylvia could still feel the dim, yet terribly searching, eyes fixed on her face, and she wondered nervously what sort of effect she had produced on the old Marquise.

Meanwhile, she felt that now was the time to see something of Anna Wolsky.  The long afternoon and evening stretching before her seemed likely to be very dull, and so she wrote a little note and asked Anna if she would care for a long expedition in the Forest of Montmorency.  It was the sort of thing Anna always said bored her, but as she was not going to the Casino a drive would surely be better than doing nothing.

* * * * *

And now Sylvia, sitting idly by her bed-room window, was awaiting Anna’s answer to her note.  She had sent it, just before she went down to luncheon, by a commissionaire, to the Pension Malfait, and the answer ought to have come ere now.

After their drive she and Anna might call on the Wachners and offer to take them to the Casino; and with the thought of the Wachners there came over Sylvia a regret that the Comte de Virieu was so fastidious.  He seemed to detest the Wachners!  When he met them at the Casino, the most he would do was to incline his head coldly towards them.  Who could wonder that Madame Wachner spoke so disagreeably of him?

Sylvia Bailey’s nature was very loyal, and now she reminded herself that this couple, for whom Count Paul seemed to have an instinctive dislike, were good-natured and kindly.  She must ever remember gratefully how helpful Madame Wachner had been during the first few days she and Anna had been at Lacville, in showing them the little ways about the place, and in explaining to them all sorts of things about the Casino.

And how kindly the Wachners had pressed Anna yesterday to have supper with them during Sylvia’s absence in Paris!

* * * * *

There came a knock at the door, and Sylvia jumped up from her chair.  No doubt this was Anna herself in response to the note.

“Come in,” she cried out, in English.

There was a pause, and another knock.  Then it was not Anna?

“Entrez!”

The commissionaire by whom Sylvia had sent her note to Madame Wolsky walked into the room.  To her great surprise he handed her back her own letter to her friend.  The envelope had been opened, and together with her letter was a sheet of common notepaper, across which was scrawled, in pencil, the words, “Madame Wolsky est partie.”

Sylvia looked up. “Partie?” The word puzzled her.  Surely it should have been “Sortie.” Perhaps Anna had gone to Paris for the day to bank her large winnings.  “Then the lady was out?” she said to the man.