arden, unwilling to assume any responsibility as
to the police. After all, there was no _evidence_, not what English law
would recognise as evidence, against these people.

Out in the darkness, with the two men, one on either side of her, Sylvia
walked slowly to the gate. Between them they got her over it and into the
victoria.

Paul de Virieu pulled out the little back seat, but Chester, taking quick
possession of it, motioned him to sit by Mrs. Bailey.

"To Paris, Hotel du Louvre," the Count called out to the driver. "You can
take as long as you like over the journey!"

Then he bent forward to Chester, "The air will do her good," he murmured.

By his side, huddled up in a corner of the carriage, Sylvia lay back
inertly; but her eyes were wide open, and she was staring hungrily at the
sky, at the stars. She had never thought to see the sky and the stars
again.

They were now moving very slowly, almost at a foot's pace.

The driver was accustomed to people who suddenly decided to drive all the
way back to Paris from Lacville after an evening's successful or, for the
matter of that, unsuccessful play. He had been very much relieved to see
his two gentlemen come back from the chalet and to leave the gendarmes
behind. He had no wish to get mixed up in a _fracas_, no wish, that is,
to have any embarrassments with the police.

They drove on and on, into the open country; through dimly-lit, leafy
thoroughfares, through long stretches of market gardens, till they came
on to the outskirts of the great city--and still Sylvia remained
obstinately silent.

Paul de Virieu leant forward.

"Speak to her," he said in an urgent whisper. "Take her hand and try to
rouse her, Mr. Chester. I feel very anxious about her condition."

Chester in the darkness felt himself flushing. With a diffident, awkward
gesture he took Sylvia's hand in his--and then he uttered an exclamation
of surprise and concern.

The hand he held was quite cold--cold and nerveless to the touch, as
if all that constitutes life had gone out of it. "My dear girl!" he
exclaimed. "I'm afraid those people frightened you badly? I suppose you
began to suspect they meant to steal your pearls?"

But Sylvia still remained obstinately silent. She did not want to speak,
she only wanted to live.

It was so strange to feel oneself alive--alive and whole at a time when
one had thought to be dead, having been done to death after an awful,
disfiguring struggle--for Sylv