o the Chalet,
and there he made the most excellent coffee for them all, and even Mrs.
Bailey, who was treated as the guest of honour, though she knew that
coffee was not good for her, was tempted into taking some.

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 habitues 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! We have known him for years,
have L'Ami Fritz and I, for we are always running across him at Monte
Carlo and other places. But no, each time we meet he looks at us as if he
was a fish. He does not even nod!"

"When the Comte de Virieu is actually playing, he does not know that
other people exist," said Anna Wolsky, slowly.

She had looked across at Sylvia and noticed her English friend's blush
and look of embarrassment. "I used to watch him two years ago at Monte
Carlo, and I have never seen a man more absorbed in his play."

"That is no excuse!" cried Madame Wachner, scornfully. "Besides, that is
only half the truth. He is ashamed of the way he is spending his life,
and he hates the people who see him doing it! It is shameful to be so
idle. A strong young man doing nothing, living on charity, so they say!
And he despises all those who do what he himself is not ashamed to do."

And Sylvia, looking across at her, said to herself with a heavy sigh that
this was true. Madame Wachner had summed up Count Paul very accurately.

At last there came the sound of a carriage in the quiet lane outside.

"Fritz! Go and see if that is the carriage I ordered to come here at nine
o'clock," said his wife sharply; and then, as he got up silently to obey
her, she followed him out into the passage, and Sylvia, who had very
quick ears, heard her say, in low, vehement tones, "I work and work and
work, but you do nothing! Do try and help me--it is for your sake I am
taking all this trouble!"

What could these odd words mean? At what was Madame Wachner working?

A sudden feeling of discomfort came over Sylvia. Then the stout,
jolly-looking woman was not without private anxieties and cares? There
had been something so weary as well as so angry in the tone in which
Madame Wachner spoke to her beloved "Ami Fritz."

A moment later he was hurrying towards the gate.