might be, was right
in his wish to remove Sylvia from his, Paul de Virieu's, company. The
Englishman was more right than he would ever know.

How amazed Chester would have been had he been able to see straight into
Paul de Virieu's heart! Had he divined the other's almost unendurable
temptation to take Sylvia Bailey at her word, to impose on her pathetic
ignorance of life, to allow her to become a gambler's wife.

Had the woman he loved been penniless, the Comte de Virieu would probably
have yielded to the temptation which now came in the subtle garb of
jealousy--keen, poisoned-fanged jealousy of this fine looking young
Englishman who stood before them both.

Would Sylvia ever cling to this man as she had clung to him--would she
ever allow Chester to kiss her as she had allowed Paul to kiss her, and
that after he had released the hand she had laid in his?

But alas! there are kisses and kisses--clingings and clingings. Chester,
so the Frenchman with his wide disillusioned knowledge of life felt only
too sure, would win Sylvia in time.

"Shall we go in and find out the time of the Swiss express?" he asked the
other man, "or perhaps you have already decided on a train?"

"No, I haven't looked one out yet."

They strolled off together towards the house, and Sylvia walked blindly
on to the grass and sat down on one of the rocking-chairs of which M.
Polperro was so proud.

She looked after the two men with a sense of oppressed bewilderment. Then
they were both going away--both going to leave her?

After to-day--how strange, how utterly unnatural the parting seemed--she
would probably never see Paul de Virieu again.

* * * * *

The day went like a dream--a fantastic, unreal dream.

Sylvia did not see Count Paul again alone. She and Chester went a drive
in the afternoon--the expedition had been arranged the day before with
the Wachners, and there seemed no valid reason why it should be put off.

And then Madame Wachner with her usual impulsive good nature, on hearing
that both Chester and the Comte de Virieu were going away, warmly invited
Sylvia to supper at the Chalet des Muguets for that same night, and
Sylvia listlessly accepted. She did not care what she did or where she
went.

At last came the moment of parting.

"I'll go and see you off at the station," she said, and Chester, rather
surprised, raised one or two objections. "I'm determined to come," she
cried angrily. "Wh