lled "coming on" in her
manner to Count Paul; henceforth she would be cold and distant to him.

She put her note into an envelope, addressed it, and went downstairs
again. It was very late, but M. Polperro was still up. The landlord never
went to bed till each one of his clients was safe indoors.

"Will you kindly see that the Comte de Virieu gets this to-night?" she
said briefly. And then, as the little man looked at her with some
surprise, "It is to tell the Count that I cannot ride to-morrow morning.
It is late, and I am very tired; sleepy, too, after the long motoring
expedition I took this afternoon!" She tried to smile.

M. Polperro bowed.

"Certainly, Madame. The Count shall have this note the moment he returns
from the Casino. He will not be long now."

But the promises of Southerners are pie-crust. Doubtless M. Polperro
meant the Count to have the note that night, but he put it aside and
forgot all about it.

Sylvia had a broken night, and she was still sleeping heavily when she
was wakened by the now familiar sound of the horses being brought into
the courtyard. She jumped out of bed and peeped through an opening in
the closed curtains.

It was a beautiful morning. The waters of the lake dimpled in the sun.
A door opened, and Sylvia heard voices. Then Count Paul was going riding
after all, and by himself? Sylvia felt a pang of unreasoning anger and
regret.

Paul de Virieu and M. Polperro were standing side by side; suddenly she
saw the hotel-keeper hand the Count, with a gesture of excuse, the note
she had written the night before. Count Paul read it through, then he put
it back in its envelope, and placed it in the breast pocket of his coat.

He did not send the horses away, as Sylvia in her heart had rather hoped
he would do, but he said a word to M. Polperro, who ran into the Villa
and returned a moment later with something which he handed, with a
deferential bow to the Count.

It was a cardcase, and Paul de Virieu scribbled something on a card and
gave it to M. Polperro. A minute later he had ridden out of the gates.

Sylvia moved away from the window, but she was in no mood to go back to
bed. She felt restless, excited, sorry that she had given up her ride.

When at last her tea was brought in, she saw the Count's card lying on
the tray:

Madame--

I regret very much to hear that you are not well--so ran his pencilled
words--but I trust you will be able to come down this morning, fo