ant he will so soon become.

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? Must she call her "Dear Madame"? Should she call
her "Dear Duchesse"? It was really an unimportant matter, but it appeared
very important to Sylvia Bailey. She was exceedingly anxious not to
commit any social solecism.

And then, while she was still hesitating, still sitting with the pen
poised in her hand, there came a knock at the door.

The maid handed her a note; it was from Count Paul, the first letter he
had ever written to her.

"Madame,"--so ran the note--"it occurs to me that you might like to
answer my sister in French, and so I venture to send you the sort of
letter that you might perhaps care to write. Each country has its own
usages in these matters--that must be my excuse for my apparent
impertinence."

And then there followed a prettily-turned little epistle which Sylvia
copied, feeling perhaps a deeper gratitude than a far greater service
would have won him from her.

CHAPTER XII

A couple of hours later Sylvia and Count Paul parted at the door of the
Casino. He held her hand longer than was usual with him when bidding her
good-night; then, dropping it, he lifted his hat and hurried off towards
the station.

Sylvia stood in the dusk and looked after him till a turn in the short
road hid his hurrying figure from her sight.

She felt very much moved, touched to the core of her heart. She knew just
as well as if he had told her why the Comte de Virieu had given up his
evening's play to-night. He had left Lacville, and arranged to meet her
in Paris the next day, in order that their names might not be coupled--as
would have certainly been the case if they had travelled together into
Paris the next morning--by M. Polperro and the good-natured, but rather
vulgar Wachners.

As she turned and walked slowly through the Casino, moving as in a dream,
Sylvia suddenly felt herself smartly tapped on the shoulder.

She turned round quickly--then she smiled. It was Madame Wachner.

"Why 'ave you not come before?" her friend exclaimed. "Madame Wolsky
is making such a sensation! Come quick--quick!" and she hurried the
unresisting Sylvia towards the Club rooms. "I come downstairs to see if
I could find you," went