But what was this that Mrs. Bailey was saying in so plaintive a tone?

“That’s the extraordinary thing about it!  I haven’t the slightest idea where Anna is, or why she has left Lacville.”  In spite of herself her voice trembled.  “She did not give me the slightest warning of what she was thinking of doing; in fact, only a few days ago, when we were talking of our future plans, I tried to persuade her to come back to England with me on a long visit.”

“Tell me all that happened,” he said, sitting down and speaking in the eager, kindly way he seemed to keep for Sylvia alone.

And then Sylvia told him.  She described the coming of the messenger, her journey to the Pension Malfait, and she repeated, as far as was possible, the exact words of her friend’s curiously-worded, abrupt letter to Madame Malfait.

“They all think,” she said at last, “that Anna went to the Casino and lost all her money—­both the money she made, and the money she brought here; and that then, not liking to tell even me anything about it, she made up her mind to go away.”

“They all think this?” repeated Count Paul, meaningly.  “Whom do you mean by all, Mrs. Bailey?”

“I mean the people at the Pension Malfait, and the Wachners—­”

“Then you saw the Wachners to-day?”

“I met Madame Wachner as I was going to the Pension Malfait,” said Sylvia, “and she went there with me.  You see, the Wachners asked Anna to have supper with them yesterday, and they waited for her ever so long, but she never came.  That makes it clear that she must have left Lacville some time in the early afternoon.  I wish—­I cannot help wishing—­that I had not gone into Paris yesterday, Count Paul.”

And then suddenly she realised how ungracious her words must sound.

“No, no,” she cried, impetuously.  “Of course, I do not mean that!  I had a very, very happy time, and your sister was very kind and sweet to me.  But it makes me unhappy to think that Anna may have been worried and anxious about money with me away—­”

There was a pause, and then, in a very different voice, Sylvia Bailey asked the Comte de Virieu a question that seemed to him utterly irrelevant.

“Do you believe in fortune-tellers?” she asked abruptly.  “Are you superstitious?”

“Like everyone else, I have been to such people,” he answered indifferently.  “But if you ask my true opinion—­well, no; I am quite sceptical!  There may be something in what these dealers in hope sometimes say, but more often there is nothing.  In fact, you must remember that a witch generally tells her client what she believes her client wishes to hear.”

“Madame Wachner is inclined to think that Anna left Lacville because of something which a fortune-teller told her—­indeed told both of us—­before we came here.”  Mrs. Bailey was digging the point of her parasol in the grass.

“Tiens!  Tiens!” he exclaimed.  “That is an odd idea!  Pray tell me all about it.  Did you and your friend consult a fashionable necromancer, or did you content yourselves with going to a cheap witch?”