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He had left Lacville, and arranged to meet her in Paris the next day, in order that their names might not be coupled as would have certainly been the case if they had travelled together into Paris the next morning by M. Polperro and the good-natured, but rather vulgar Wachners.

At Lacville station they jumped into a victoria. "I suppose we had better drive straight to the Villa du Lac," said Chester, hesitatingly. "Yes, we had better go first to the Villa du Lac, for Mrs. Bailey should be home by now. By the way, Mr. Chester, you had better ask to have my room to-night; we know that it is disengaged.

It is, as M'sieur doubtless knows, the great attraction of our delightful and salubrious Lacville." Chester had not much sense of humour, but he could not help smiling to himself at the other's pompous words. "Perhaps you will kindly show me to the room which Mrs. Bailey has engaged for me," he said, "and then I will go out and try and find her."

We have splendid Bass's ale," he said, solicitously. But the Englishman shook his head, smiling. "Oh, no," he said slowly, in his bad French, "I dined in Paris. All I need now is a good night's rest." "And that M'sieur will certainly have," said the landlord civilly. "Lacville is famous for its sleep-producing qualities.

When she got to the Gare du Nord the same advertisement stared down at her from the walls of the station and of the waiting-rooms. It was certainly odd that she had never heard of Lacville, and that the place had never been mentioned to her by any of those of her English acquaintances who thought they knew Paris so well. The Lacville train was full of happy, chattering people.

And as he swung quickly along, feeling once more tired and depressed, the Englishman wondered more and more why Sylvia Bailey cared to stay in such a place as Lacville. It struck him as neither town nor country more like an unfinished suburb than anything else, with almost every piece of spare land up for sale.

That citizeness of the world, as she had called herself, stepped down from the kerb. She looked hot and tired. It was a most unusual time for Madame Wachner to be out walking, and by herself, in Lacville. But Sylvia was thinking too much about Anna Wolsky to trouble about anything else. "Have you heard that Anna Wolsky is away for the day?" she exclaimed.

"Lacville is a cosy, 'appy place!" she cried, and this time she smiled full at Sylvia, and Sylvia told herself that the woman's face, if very plain, was like a sunflower, so broad, so kindly, so good-humoured!

He told himself that Sylvia Bailey could not be left alone in a place like Lacville, and that it was his positive duty to stay on there and look after her.... Suddenly their eyes met. Sylvia blushed Heavens! how adorable she looked when there came that vivid rose-red blush over her rounded cheeks.

The Duchesse d'Eglemont had sent her maid to Lacville with the riding habit she was lending Sylvia, and by a word M. Polperro let fall, the Englishwoman realised, with mingled confusion and amusement, that the hotel-keeper supposed her to be an old and intimate friend of Count Paul's sister. The other people in the hotel began to treat her with marked cordiality.