sister.

The other people in the hotel began to treat her with marked cordiality.

And so it came to pass that outwardly the Polish lady's disappearance
came to be regarded even by Sylvia as having only been a ripple on the
pleasant, lazy, agreeable life she, Count Paul, and last, not least, the
Wachners, were all leading at Lacville.

In fact, as the days went on, only Mrs. Bailey herself and that kindly
couple, Madame Wachner and her silent husband, seemed to remember that
Anna had ever been 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.

Whenever Sylvia saw them, and she saw them daily at the Casino, either
Madame Wachner or L'Ami Fritz would ask her in an eager, sympathetic
voice, "Have you had news of Madame Wolsky?"

And then, when she shook her head sadly, they would express--and
especially Madame Wachner would express--increasing concern and surprise
at Anna's extraordinary silence.

"If only she had come to us as she arranged to do!" the older woman
exclaimed more than once in a regretful tone. "Then, at any rate, we
should know something; she would not have concealed her plans from us
entirely; we were, if new friends, yet on such kind, intimate terms with
the dear soul!"

And now, as had been the case exactly a week ago, Sylvia was resting in
her room. She was sitting just as she had then sat, in a chair drawn up
close to the window. There had been no ride that morning, for Paul de
Virieu had been obliged to go into Paris for the day.

Sylvia felt dull and listless. She had never before experienced that
aching longing for the presence of another human being which in our
civilised life is disguised under many names, but which in this case,
Sylvia herself called by that of "friendship."

Moreover, she had received that morning a letter which had greatly
disturbed her. It now lay open on her lap, for she had just read it
through again. This letter was quite short, and simply contained the news
that Bill Chester, her good friend, sometime lover, and trustee, was
going to Switzerland after all, and that he would stop a couple of days
in Paris in order to see her.

It was real