turned the pale-grey envelope over doubtfully, wondering if it was
really meant for her. But yes--of that there could be no doubt, for it
was addressed, "Madame Bailey, Villa du Lac, Lacville-les-Bains."

She opened it to find that the note contained a gracefully-worded
invitation to dejeuner for the next day, and the signature
ran--"Marie-Anne d'Eglemont."

Why, it must be Paul de Virieu's sister! How very kind of her, and--and
how very kind of _him_.

The letter must have been actually written when Count Paul was in Paris
with his sister--and yet, when they had passed one another the evening
before, he had bowed as distantly, as coldly, as he might have done to
the most casual of acquaintances.

Sylvia got up, filled with a tumult of excited feeling which this simple
invitation to luncheon scarcely warranted.

But Paul de Virieu came in from his ride also eager, excited, smiling.

"Have you received a note from my sister?" he asked, hurrying towards her
in the dining-room which they now had to themselves each morning. "When I
told her how you and I had become"--he hesitated a moment, and then added
the words, "good friends, she said how much she would like to meet you. I
know that you and my dear Marie-Anne would like one another--"

"It is very kind of your sister to ask me to come and see her," said
Sylvia, a little stiffly.

"I am going back to Paris this evening," he went on, "to stay with my
sister for a couple of nights. So if you can come to-morrow to lunch, as
I think my sister has asked you to do, I will meet you at the station."

After breakfast they went out into the garden, and when they were free of
the house Count Paul said suddenly,

"I told Marie-Anne that you were fond of riding, and, with your
permission, she proposes to send over a horse for you every morning.
And, Madame--forgive me--but I told her I feared you had no riding habit!
You and she, however, are much the same height, and she thinks that she
might be able to lend you one if you will honour her by accepting the
loan of it during the time you are at Lacville."

Sylvia was bewildered, she scarcely knew how to accept so much kindness.

"If you will write a line to my sister some time to-day," continued the
Count, "I will be the bearer of your letter."

* * * * *

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