othing
broke the intense stillness but the loud, sweet twittering of the birds
in the trees which surrounded the lake.

But soon the spell was broken. When the six strokes of the hour chimed
out from the old parish church which forms the centre of the town of
Lacville, as if by enchantment there rose sounds of stir both indoors and
out.

A woman came out of the lodge of the Villa du Lac, and slowly opened the
great steel and gilt gates.

Sylvia heard the rush of bath water, even the queer click-click of a
shower bath. M. Polperro evidently insisted on an exceptional standard of
cleanliness for his household.

Sylvia felt fresh and well. The languor induced by the heat of Paris had
left her. There seemed no reason why she should not get up too, and even
go out of doors if so the fancy pleased her.

She had just finished dressing when there came curious sounds from the
front of the Villa, and again she went over to her window.

A horse was being walked up and down on the stones of the courtyard in
front of the horseshoe stairway which led up to the hall door. It was not
yet half-past six. Who could be going to ride at this early hour of the
morning?

Soon her unspoken question was answered; for the Comte de Virieu, clad in
riding breeches and a black jersey, came out of the house, and close on
his heels trotted M. Polperro, already wearing his white chef's cap and
apron.

Sylvia could hear his "M'sieur le Comte" this, and "M'sieur le Comte"
that, and she smiled a little to herself. The owner of the Hotel du Lac
was very proud of his noble guest.

The Comte de Virieu was also laughing and talking; he was more animated
than she had yet seen him. Sylvia told herself that he looked very well
in his rather odd riding dress.

Waving a gay adieu to mine host, he vaulted into the saddle, and then
rode out of the gates, and so sharply to the left.

Sylvia wondered if he were going for a ride in the Forest of Montmorency,
which, in her lying guide-book, was mentioned as the principal attraction
of Lacville.

There came a knock at the door, and Sylvia, calling out "Come in!" was
surprised, and rather amused, to see that it was M. Polperro himself who
opened it.

"I have come to ask if Madame has slept well," he observed, "and also to
know if she would like an English breakfast? If yes, it shall be laid in
the dining-room, unless Madame would rather have it up here."

"I would much rather come downstairs to breakfa