r in which was situated her quiet little hotel, that wonderful
square mile--it is not more--which has as its centre the Paris Opera
House, and which includes the Rue de la Paix and the beginning of
each of the great arteries of modern Paris.

And that was not all. Sylvia Bailey knew something of the France of the
past. The quiet, clever, old-fashioned Frenchwoman by whom she had been
educated had seen to that. She could wander through the narrow streets
on the other side of the Seine, and reconstitute the amazing, moving,
tragic things which happened there during the great Revolution.

She was now half sorry to think that in ten days or so she had promised
to join some acquaintances in Switzerland. Luckily her trustee and
would-be lover, Bill Chester, proposed to come out and join the party
there. That was something to look forward to, for Sylvia was very fond
of him, though he sometimes made her angry by his fussy ways. Chester had
not approved of her going to Paris by herself, and he would certainly
have shaken his head had he known of yesterday's visit to Madame
Cagliostra.

And then Sylvia Bailey began to think of her new friend: of Anna Wolsky.
She was sorry, very sorry, that they were going to part so soon. If only
Anna would consent to come on with her to Switzerland! But alas! there
was no chance of that, for there are no Casinos, no gambling, in the land
of William Tell.

There came a knock at the door, and Madame Wolsky walked in. She was
dressed for a journey.

"I have to go out of town this morning," she said, "but the place I am
going to is quite near, and I shall be back this afternoon."

"Where are you going?" asked Sylvia, naively. "Or is it a secret?"

"No, it is not a secret." Anna smiled provokingly. "I am going to go to a
place called Lacville. I do not suppose you have ever heard of Lacville,
Sylvia?"

The other shook her head.

"I thought not," cried Anna, suddenly bursting out laughing. Then,
"Good-bye!" she exclaimed, and she was gone before Sylvia could say
anything else.

Lacville? There had been a sparkle, a look of life, of energy in Anna's
face. Why was Anna Wolsky going to Lacville? There was something about
the place concerning which she had chosen to be mysterious, and yet she
had made no secret of going there.

Mrs. Bailey jumped out of bed, and dressed rather more quickly than
usual.

It was a very hot day. In fact, it was unpleasantly hot. How delightful
it would be to