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They started out into the moonlit night, Sylvia with her light, springing step keeping pace with L'Ami Fritz, while his wife lagged a step behind. But, as was usual with him, M. Wachner remained silent, while his companions talked.
L'Ami Fritz was still holding in his hand the small pair of nail scissors with which he had snipped asunder her necklace; with the other he was in the act of taking out something from the drawer of the buffet. She suddenly saw what that something was. Sylvia Bailey's nerves steadied; her mind became curiously collected and clear.
She and Monsieur Wachner "L'Ami Fritz," as even Sylvia had fallen into the way of calling him seemed scarcely alive unless they were standing or sitting round a baccarat table, putting down or taking up the shining gold pieces which they treated as carelessly as if they were counters.
Aylmer Ross, who had taken his romance seriously to heart, refused to be kept as l'ami de la maison, and as a platonic admirer. All this had been a real event, a real break in Edith's life. For the first few months after she suffered, missing the excitement of Aylmer's controlled passion, and his congenial society. Gradually she made herself not forget it but put aside, ignore the whole incident.
"I wonder" Sylvia Bailey looked up at her silent companion, L'Ami Fritz had not opened his lips once during the walk from the Casino, "I wonder that you and Madame Wachner are not afraid to leave the châlet alone for so many hours of each day! Your servant always goes away after lunch, doesn't she?" "There is nothing to steal," he answered shortly.
He is fifty years of age, dying of consumption and other things, so that, did Charlotte but know it, there is no need to murder him. Disease and Death have marked him for their own, and grow impatient. A board covering the bath served him for writing-table; an empty wooden box at his side bore an inkstand, some pens, sheets of paper, and two or three copies of L'Ami do Peuple.
When this task was done, and he had received a chunk of sour bread for his reward from Jeannette Marechal, the cook, he shuffled out of the place and into the street, to do his employer's errands. Paul Mole had been to the offices of the Moniteur and to the printing works of L'Ami du Peuple.
I invoke heaven that we may meet with constant defeat . . . and that our soldiers . . . drown their leaders in their own blood." This Marat wrote on the 24th of April 1792, in his little pamphlet newspaper l'Ami du peuple. During the first part of 1792 the popular agitation grew. France was now throwing all the enthusiasm, the vital emotion of patriotism into her internal upheaval.
She did so to-day, but suggested dining at a restaurant. "Yes, if this time, dear Sylvia, the host is L'Ami Fritz!" said Madame Wachner decidedly. And after a slight demur Sylvia consented. They dined at the hotel which is just opposite the Casino.
"Oh, Lacville is a very safe place!" answered Madame Wachner, laughing her jovial laugh. "Still, considering all the money made by the Casino, it is too bad they 'aven't made a more splendid what do you call it ?" " Approach," said L'Ami Fritz, in his deep voice, and Chester turned, rather surprised. It was the first word he had heard Monsieur Wachner utter.
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