Wachners were in considerable difficulty about money. Then
suddenly they seemed to have found plenty, in fact, to be as we say here,
'_a flot_'; I confess that I foolishly imagined, nay, I almost hoped,
that they owed this temporary prosperity to you! But of course I had no
business to think about it at all--still less any business to speak to
you about the matter. Forgive me, I will not so err again."

And then, with one of his sudden, stiff bows, the Comte de Virieu turned
on his heel, leaving Sylvia to make her way alone to the little wooden
gate on which were painted the words "Chalet des Muguets."

CHAPTER XVIII

Sylvia pushed open the little white gate of the Chalet des Muguets and
began walking up the path which lay through the neglected, untidy garden.

To eyes accustomed to the exquisitely-kept gardens of an English country
town, there was something almost offensive in the sight presented by the
high, coarse grass and luxuriant unkemptness of the place, and once more
Sylvia wondered how the Wachners could bear to leave the land surrounding
their temporary home in such a state.

But the quaint, fantastic-looking, one-storeyed chalet amused and rather
interested her, for it was so entirely unlike any other dwelling with
which she was acquainted.

To-day a deep, hot calm brooded over the silent house and
deserted-looking garden; the chocolate-coloured shutters of the
dining-room and the drawing-room were closed, and Sylvia told herself
that it would be delightful to pass from the steamy heat outside into the
dimly-lighted, sparsely-furnished little "salon," there to have a cup of
tea and a pleasant chat with her friends before accompanying them in the
cool of the early evening to the Casino.

Sylvia always enjoyed talking to Madame Wachner. She was a little bit
ashamed that this was so, for this cosmopolitan woman's conversation was
not always quite refined, but she was good-natured and lively, and her
talk was invariably amusing. Above all, she knew how to flatter, and
after a chat with Madame Wachner Sylvia Bailey always felt pleased both
with herself and with the world about her.

There was very little concerning the young Englishwoman's simple,
uneventful life with which Madame Wachner was not by now acquainted. She
was aware for instance, that Sylvia had no close relations of her own,
and that, like Anna Wolsky, Mrs. Bailey knew nobody--she had not even
an acquaintance--living in Paris.

Th