get into the country even for an hour. Why should she not
also make her way to Lacville?

She opened the "Guide-Book to Paris and its Environs," of which she had
made such good use in the last month, and looked up "Lacville" in the
index.

Situated within a drive of the beautiful Forest of Montmorency, the
pretty little town of Lacville is still famed for its healing springs
and during the summer months of the year is much frequented by
Parisians. There are frequent trains from the Gare du Nord.

No kind fairy whispered the truth to Sylvia--namely that this account is
only half, nay, a quarter, or an eighth, of the truth.

Lacville is the spendthrift, the gambler--the austere would call her
the chartered libertine--of the group of pretty country towns which
encircle Paris; for Lacville is in the proud possession of a Gambling
Concession which has gradually turned what was once the quietest of
inland watering-places into a miniature Monte Carlo.

The vast majority of intelligent, cultivated English and American
visitors to Paris remain quite unaware that there is, within half an hour
of the French capital, such a spot; the minority, those tourists who do
make their way to the alluring little place, generally live to regret it.

But Sylvia knew nothing, nay, less than nothing, of all this, and even if
she had known, it would not have stayed her steps to-day.

She put on her hat and hurried down to the office. There M. Girard would
doubtless tell her of a good train to Lacville, and if it were a small
place she might easily run across Anna Wolsky.

M. Girard was a very busy man, yet he always found time for a talk with
any foreign client of his hotel.

"I want to know," said Sylvia, smiling in spite of herself, for the
hotel-keeper was such a merry-looking little man, and so utterly
different from any English hotel-keeper she had ever seen!--"I want to
know, M. Girard, which is the best way to a place called Lacville? Have
you ever been there?"

"Lacville?" echoed M. Girard delightedly; but there came a rather funny
look over his shrewd, round face. "Yes, indeed, I have been there,
Madame! Not this season yet, but often last summer, and I shall be going
there shortly again. I have a friend there--indeed, he is more than a
friend, he is a relation of mine, who keeps the most select hotel at
Lacville. It is called the Villa du Lac. Is Madame thinking of going to
Lacville instead of to Switzerland?"

Sylv