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Eyes full of adoring admiration, aye and gratitude, were turned on the young Englishwoman. Paul de Virieu alone did not look at her. But he followed her play. "Now put on a hundred francs," said Anna, authoritatively. Sylvia looked at her, rather surprised by the advice, but she obeyed it. And still the Comte de Virieu followed her lead.
A gentleman who was called after a well-known cheese yes, Chester was his name. Then this Mr. Chester's departure from Lacville had been a fausse sortie a ruse to get rid of the Comte de Virieu, who was also in love with the lovely young English widow? Ah! Ah! M. Polperro felt very much amused. Never had he heard of anything so droll!
As Sylvia went slowly and wearily up to her room a sudden horror of Lacville swept over her excited brain. For the first time since she had been in the Villa du Lac, she locked the door of her bed room and sat down in the darkness. She was overwhelmed with feelings of humiliation and pain. She told herself with bitter self-scorn that Paul de Virieu cared nothing for her.
And then Madame Wachner with her usual impulsive good nature, on hearing that both Chester and the Comte de Virieu were going away, warmly invited Sylvia to supper at the Châlet des Muguets for that same night, and Sylvia listlessly accepted. She did not care what she did or where she went. At last came the moment of parting.
Anna Wolsky, who had spoken as if she really loved her only a day or two ago, and who had made that love her excuse for a somewhat impertinent interference in Sylvia's private affairs, had left Lacville without even sending her word that she was leaving! True, she had a new and a delightful friend in Count Paul de Virieu. But what if Anna had been right?
She could not see Paul de Virieu, for there was a crowd a noisy, chattering crowd of over-dressed men, each with a gaudily-dressed feminine companion encompassing her on every side. "Vingt mille francs en Banque! Une fois, deux fois, messieurs?" A pause then the words repeated. "Vingt mille francs en Banque!" Monsieur Wachner leant his tall, lean form over Sylvia.
One thing, however, rather dashed her pleasure in the entertainment. Madame Wachner, forgetting for once her usual tact, suddenly made a violent attack on the Comte de Virieu. They were all talking of the habitués of the Casino: "The only one I do not like," she exclaimed, in French, "is that Count if indeed Count he be? He is so arrogant, so proud, so rude!
"I see you've already made one acquaintance, Sylvia," said the Polish lady dryly. "That's the man who was so kind the last time we were here together. He is staying at the Villa du Lac," Sylvia answered, a little guiltily. "His name is Count Paul de Virieu." "Yes, I am aware of that; I know him by sight quite well," Anna said quickly.
If he had cared ever so little he surely would never have done what he had done to-night? But such thoughts were futile, and soon she rose and turned on the electric light. Then she sat down at a little writing-table which had been thoughtfully provided for her by M. Polperro, and hurriedly, with feverish eagerness, wrote a note. Dear Count de Virieu
That day marked a very great advance in the friendship of Sylvia Bailey and Paul de Virieu. Till that day, much as he had talked to her about himself and his life, and the many curious adventures he had had, for he had travelled a great deal, and was a cultivated man, he had very seldom spoken to her of his relations.
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