rtantly. "Do not trouble to go into the salon,
Madame! We shall have tea here, of course."

And Sylvia Bailey was amused, as well as rather touched, to see the
preparations which had been made in the little dining-room for the
entertainment of Bill Chester and of herself.

In the middle of the round table which had looked so bare yesterday was
a bowl of white roses--roses that had never grown in the untidy garden
outside. Two dessert dishes were heaped up with delicious cakes--the
cakes for which French pastrycooks are justly famed. There was also a
basin full of the Alpine strawberries which Sylvia loved, and of which
she always ordered a goodly supply at the Villa du Lac. Madame Wachner
had even remembered to provide the thick cream, which, to a foreign
taste, spoils the delicate flavour of strawberries.

They were really very kind people, these Wachners!

Looking round the funny little dining-room, Sylvia could not help
remembering how uncomfortable she had felt when sitting there alone the
day before. It was hard now to believe that she should have had that
queer, eerie feeling of discomfort and disquietude in such a commonplace,
cheerful room. She told herself that there probably had been some little
creature hidden there--some shy, wild thing, which maybe had crept in out
of the wood.

"And now I will go and make the tea," said Madame Wachner pleasantly, and
Sylvia gaily insisted on accompanying her hostess into the kitchen.

"We shall 'ave a nicer tea than that first time we made tea 'ere
together," said Madame Wachner jovially.

The young Englishwoman shook her head, smiling.

"I had a very good time that afternoon!" she cried. "And I shall always
feel grateful for your kindness to me and to poor Anna, Madame Wachner.
I do so often wonder what Anna is doing with herself, and where she is
staying in Paris." She looked wistfully at her companion.

Madame Wachner was in the act of pouring the boiling water into her china
teapot.

"Ah, well," she said, bending over it, "we shall never know that. Your
friend was a strange person, what I call a _solitaire_. She did not like
gambling when there were people whom she knew in the Baccarat Room with
her. As to what she is doing now--" she shrugged her shoulders,
expressively.

"You know she telegraphed for her luggage yesterday?" said Sylvia slowly.

"In that case--if it has had time to arrive--Madame Wolsky is probably on
her way to Aix, perhaps even to Mont