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Updated: June 20, 2025
But Sylvia looked girlishly simple, timid, and confiding. As he greeted her, Paul de Virieu's manner was serious, almost solemn. But none the less, while they walked side by side in a quiet, leisurely fashion through the great grey station, Sylvia felt as if she had indeed passed through the shining portals of fairyland. In the covered courtyard stood the Duchesse's carriage.
He did not look at Sylvia. He had not looked her way since Chester had joined them. With a hand that shook a little he took his cigarette-case out of his pocket, and held it out to the other man. The die was cast. So be it. Chester, prig though he might be, was right in his wish to remove Sylvia from his, Paul de Virieu's, company. The Englishman was more right than he would ever know.
How amazed Chester would have been had he been able to see straight into Paul de Virieu's heart! Had he divined the other's almost unendurable temptation to take Sylvia Bailey at her word, to impose on her pathetic ignorance of life, to allow her to become a gambler's wife.
"And yet well, I suppose they have not yet had time to let the Comte de Virieu's room. They only knew he was going this morning. But you need not have troubled to write a letter, Monsieur Wachner. I could have given the message when I got back to-night. In any case let me take your letter." "Ah! but the person in question may arrive before you get back," said Madame Wachner.
Count Paul postponed his departure for Paris till after dinner, and not till she went up to dress did Sylvia sit down to write her answer to the Duchesse d'Eglemont. For a long while she held her pen in her hand. How was she to address Paul de Virieu's sister?
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