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Updated: June 24, 2025
And now had come the evening of the day when Count Paul had meant to come back. But M. Polperro said no word of his return. Still, it was quite possible that he would arrive late, and Sylvia did not wish to see him when in the company, not only of Bill Chester, but also of the Wachners. Somehow or other, she had fallen into the habit each evening of asking the Wachners to dinner.
Indeed, the Wachners were both very unlike their usual selves this evening. Madame Wachner had suddenly become very serious, her stout red face was set in rather grim, grave lines; and twice, as Sylvia was eating the little piece of galantine which had been placed on her plate by L'Ami Fritz, she looked up and caught her hostess's eyes fixed on her with a curious, alien scrutiny.
He does not like them, and they know it. He thinks them vulgar sort of people, and he suspects that Monsieur Wachner is German that is quite enough for him." "But, after all, it does not really matter what the Wachners think of the Comte de Virieu, or what he thinks of them," said Anna. "What matters is what you think of him, and what he thinks of you."
"I will not say anything against the Wachners this afternoon. In fact, if you will allow me to do so, I will escort you part of the way." And he was even better than his word, for he went on with Sylvia till they were actually within sight of the little, isolated villa where the Wachners lived. There, woman-like, she made an effort to persuade him to go in with her. "Do come," she said urgently.
She told herself that the only thing to do was to tear a blank leaf out of one of L'Ami Fritz's note-books, and on it write her message of invitation. If she left the little sheet of paper propped up on the dining-table, the Wachners would be sure to see it.
When Sylvia Bailey had been to supper with the Wachners before, there had always been two or three tempting cold dishes, and some dainty friandises as well, the whole evidently procured from the excellent confectioner who drives such a roaring trade at Lacville. To-night, in addition to the few slices of galantine, there was only a little fruit. Then a very odd thing happened.
Why not go over there and rest in the shade? Hurrying across the scorched grass to the place where there was an opening in the rough hedge, she found herself, a moment later, plunged in the grateful green twilight created by high trees. It was delightfully quiet and still in the wood, and Sylvia wondered vaguely why the Wachners never took their tea out there.
During the first days, when Sylvia had been really very anxious and troubled, she had had cause to be grateful to the Wachners for their sympathy; for whereas Paul de Virieu seemed only interested in Anna Wolsky because she, Sylvia, herself was interested, both Madame Wachner and her morose, silent husband showed real concern and distress at the mysterious lack of news.
Bailey's dislike of the favourite French salad-dressing ingredient had long been a joke among the three, nay, among the four, for Anna Wolsky had been there the last time Sylvia had had supper with the Wachners. It had been such a merry meal! To-night no meaning smile met hers; instead she only saw that odd, grave, considering look on her hostess's face.
"To me there is something" he hesitated, seeking for an English word which should exactly express the French word "louche" "sinister that is the word I am looking for there is to me something sinister about the Wachners." "Sinister?" echoed Sylvia, really surprised. "Why, they seem to me to be the most good-natured, commonplace people in the world, and then they're so fond of one another!"
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