rather breathlessly, "that is so; and I 'ope that
you, dear friend, followed the advice we gave you about the matter? I
mean, I 'ope you do not leave your money in the hotel?"

"Of course I don't," said Sylvia, smiling. "Ever since you gave me those
pretty little leather pouches I always carry all my money about with me,
strapped round my waist. At first it wasn't very comfortable, but I have
got quite used to it now."

"That is right," said Madame Wachner, heartily, "that is quite right!
There are rogues everywhere, perhaps even in the Villa du Lac, if we knew
everything!" and Sylvia's hostess laughed in the darkness her hearty,
jovial laugh.

Suddenly she bent forward and addressed her husband. "By the way, Ami
Fritz, have you written that letter to the Villa du Lac?" She nodded,
explaining to Sylvia, "We are anxious to get a room in your beautiful
pension for a rich friend of ours."

Sylvia had the instant feeling--she could not have told why--that his
wife's question had greatly annoyed Monsieur Wachner.

"Of course I have written the letter!" he snapped out. "Do I ever forget
anything?"

"But I'm afraid there is no room vacant in the Villa du Lac," said
Sylvia. "And yet--well, I suppose they have not yet had time to let the
Comte de Virieu's room. They only knew he was going this morning. But you
need not have troubled to write a letter, Monsieur Wachner. I could have
given the message when I got back to-night. In any case let me take your
letter."

"Ah! but the person in question may arrive before you get back," said
Madame Wachner. "No, no, we have arranged to send the letter by a cabman
who will call for it."

Monsieur Wachner pushed opened the white gate, and all three began
walking up through the garden. The mantle of night now draped every
straggling bush, every wilted flower, and the little wilderness was
filled with delicious, pungent night scents.

When they reached the front door L'Ami Fritz stooped down, and began
looking under the mat.

Sylvia smiled in the darkness; there seemed something so primitive, so
simple, in keeping the key of one's front door outside under the mat! And
yet foolish, prejudiced people spoke of Lacville as a dangerous spot, as
the plague pit of Paris.

Suddenly the door was opened by the day-servant. And both the husband and
wife uttered an involuntary exclamation of surprise and displeasure.

"What are you doing here?" asked Madame Wachner harshly. There was a not