entertain them."

The woman spoke quickly, her eyes fixed expectantly on the lady sitting
before her.

Mrs. Bailey suddenly realised, or thought she realised, what that look
meant. She took her purse out of her pocket and held out a two-franc
piece.

"Certainly," she answered coldly, "I will explain to Madame Wachner that
I insisted on coming in to rest."

The woman's manner altered; it became at once familiar and servile. After
profusely thanking Sylvia for her "tip," she laid the cotton parasol on
the dining-table, put her arms akimbo, and suddenly asked, "Has Madame
heard any news of her friend? I mean of the Polish lady?"

"No," Sylvia looked up surprised. "I'm sorry to say that there is still
no news of her, but, of course, there will be soon."

She was astonished that the Wachners should have mentioned the matter to
this disagreeable, inquisitive person.

"The lady stopped here on her way to the station. She seemed in very high
spirits."

"Oh, no, you are quite mistaken," said Sylvia quickly. "Madame Wolsky did
not come here at all the day she left Lacville. She was expected, both to
tea and to supper, but she did not arrive--"

"Indeed, yes, Madame! I had to come back that afternoon, for I had
forgotten to bring in some sugar. The lady was here then, and she was
still here when I left the house."

"I assure you that this cannot have been on the day my friend left
Lacville," said Mrs. Bailey quickly. "Madame Wolsky left on a Saturday
afternoon. As I told you just now, Madame Wachner expected her to supper,
but she never came. She went to Paris instead."

The servant looked at her fixedly, and Sylvia's face became what it
seldom was--very forbidding in expression. She wished this meddling,
familiar woman would go away and leave her alone.

"No doubt Madame knows best! One day is like another to me. I beg
Madame's pardon."

The Frenchwoman took up her parasol and laid the house key on the table,
then, with a "_Bon jour, Madame, et encore merci bien!_" she noisily
closed the door behind her.

A moment later, Sylvia, with a sense of relief, found herself in sole
possession of the Chalet des Muguets.

* * * * *

Even the quietest, the most commonplace house has, as it were, an
individuality that sets it apart from other houses. And even those who
would deny that proposition must admit that every inhabited dwelling has
its own special nationality.

The Chalet des Mu