It was out of the question that Anna should have left Lacville
without telling her; but as the motor was there she might as well drive
to the Pension Malfait and find out the meaning of the curt message, and
also why her own letter to Anna had been opened.

If Anna had gone into Paris for the day, the only thing to do was to go
for a drive alone. The prospect was not exhilarating, but it would be
better than staying indoors, or even in the garden by herself, all
afternoon.

Sylvia felt rather troubled and uncomfortable as she got into the open
motor. Somehow she had counted on seeing Anna to-day. She remembered her
friend's last words to her. They had been kind, tender words, and though
Anna did not approve of Sylvia's friendship for Paul de Virieu, she had
spoken in a very understanding, sympathetic way, almost as a loving
mother might have spoken.

It was odd of Anna not to have left word she was going to Paris for the
day. In any case, the Wachners would know when Anna would be back. It was
with them that she had had supper yesterday evening--.

While these thoughts were passing disconnectedly through Sylvia's mind,
she suddenly saw the substantial figure of Madame Wachner walking slowly
along the sanded path by the side of the road.

"Madame Wachner! Madame Wachner!" she cried out eagerly, and the car drew
up with a jerk.

That citizeness of the world, as she had called herself, stepped down
from the kerb. She looked hot and tired. It was a most unusual time for
Madame Wachner to be out walking, and by herself, in Lacville.

But Sylvia was thinking too much about Anna Wolsky to trouble about
anything else.

"Have you heard that Anna Wolsky is away for the day?" she exclaimed. "I
have received such a mysterious message from the Pension Malfait! Do come
with me there and find out where she has gone and when she is coming
back. Did she say anything about going into Paris when she had supper
with you last night?"

With a smile and many voluble thanks Madame Wachner climbed up into the
open car, and sat back with a sigh of satisfaction.

She was very stout, though still so vigorous, and her shrewd, determined
face now turned smilingly to the pretty, anxious-eyed Englishwoman. But
she waited a few moments before answering Sylvia's eager questions. Then,

"I cannot tell you," she said slowly and in French, "what has happened to
Madame Wolsky--"

"What has happened to her!" cried Sylvia. "What do you mean, Ma