itively ugly.

The furniture consisted of a round table standing on an unpolished
parquet floor, of six cane chairs set against the wall, and of a
walnut-wood buffet, on the shelves of which stood no plates, or ornaments
of any description. The walls were distempered a reddish-pink colour, and
here and there the colour had run in streaky patches.

"Is it not charming?" exclaimed Madame Wachner. "And now I will show you
our pretty little salon!"

Sylvia followed her out into the hall, and so to the left into the short
passage which ran down the centre of the tiny house.

The drawing-room of the Chalet des Muguets was a little larger than
the dining-room, but it was equally bare of anything pretty or even
convenient. There was a small sofa, covered with cheap tapestry, and four
uncomfortable-looking chairs to match; on the sham marble mantelpiece
stood a gilt and glass clock and two chandeliers. There was not a book,
not a paper, not a flower.

Both rooms gave Sylvia a strange impression that they were very little
lived in. But then, of course, the Wachners were very little at home.

"And now I will get tea," said Madame Wachner triumphantly.

"Will you not let me help you?" asked Sylvia, timidly. "I love making
tea--every Englishwoman loves making tea." She had no wish to be left in
this dull, ugly little drawing-room by herself.

"Oh, but your pretty dress! Would it not get 'urt in the kitchen?" cried
Madame Wachner deprecatingly.

But she allowed Sylvia to follow her into the bright, clean little
kitchen, of which the door was just opposite the drawing-room.

"What a charming little _cuisine_!" cried Sylvia smiling. She was glad to
find something that she could honestly praise, and the kitchen was, in
truth, the pleasantest place in the house, exquisitely neat, with the
brass _batterie de cuisine_ shining and bright. "Your day servant must be
an exceptionally clean woman."

"Yes," said Madame Wachner, in a rather dissatisfied tone, "she is well
enough. But, oh, those French people, how eager they are for money! Do
you suppose that woman ever stays one minute beyond her time? No,
indeed!"

Even as she spoke she was pouring water into a little kettle, and
lighting a spirit lamp. Then, going to a cupboard, she took out two cups
and a cracked china teapot.

Sylvia did her part by cutting some bread and butter, and, as she stood
at the white table opposite the kitchen window, she saw that beyond the
small pi