p the wide staircase, at the head of which there stood
a slender, white-clad young woman, with a sweet, eager face.

This was the first time Sylvia Bailey had met a duchess, and she was
perhaps a little surprised to see how very unpretentious a duchess could
be!

Marie-Anne d'Eglemont spoke in a low, almost timid voice, her English
being far less good than her brother's, and yet how truly kind and
highly-bred she at once showed herself, putting Sylvia at her ease, and
appearing to think there was nothing at all unusual in Mrs. Bailey's
friendship with Paul de Virieu!

And then, after they had lunched in an octagon room of which each panel
had been painted by Van Loo, and which opened on a garden where the green
glades and high trees looked as if they must be far from a great city,
there suddenly glided in a tiny old lady, dressed in a sweeping black
gown and little frilled lace cap.

Count Paul bowing low before her, kissed her waxen-looking right hand.

"My dear godmother, let me present to you Mrs. Bailey," and Sylvia felt
herself being closely, rather pitilessly, inspected by shrewd though not
unkindly eyes--eyes sunken, dimmed by age, yet seeing more, perhaps, than
younger eyes would have seen.

The old Marquise beckoned to Count Paul, and together they slowly walked
through into the garden and paced away down a shaded alley. For the first
time Sylvia and Marie-Anne d'Eglemont were alone together.

"I wish to thank you for your kindness to my poor Paul," the Duchesse
spoke in a low, hesitating voice. "You have so much influence over him,
Madame."

Sylvia shook her head.

"Ah! But yes, you have!" She looked imploringly at Sylvia. "You know what
I mean? You know what I would ask you to do? My husband could give Paul
work in the country, work he would love, for he adores horses, if only he
could be rescued from this terrible infatuation, this passion for play."

She stopped abruptly, for the Count and his little, fairy-like godmother
had turned round, and were now coming towards them.

Sylvia rose instinctively to her feet, for the tiny Marquise was very
imposing.

"Sit down, Madame," she said imperiously, and Sylvia meekly obeyed.

The old lady fixed her eyes with an appraising gaze on her godson's
English friend.

"Permit me to embrace you," she exclaimed suddenly. "You are a very
pretty creature! And though no doubt young lips often tell you this, the
compliments of the old have the merit of being q