courteous he had been to her and her friend in
the Club. She remembered him very vividly. Yes, though not exactly
good-looking, he had fine eyes, and a clever, if not a very happy, face.

And then, on going down the broad, shallow staircase, and so through the
large, oval hall into the dining-room, Sylvia Bailey saw that the man of
whom she had been thinking was there, sitting very near to where she
herself was now told that she was to sit. In the week that had gone by
since Sylvia had paid her first visit to Lacville, the Villa had
gradually filled up with people eager, like herself, to escape from the
heat and dust of Paris, and the pleasant little table by the window had
been appropriated by someone else.

When the young Englishwoman came into the dining-room, the Comte de
Virieu got up from his chair, and clicking his heels together, bowed low
and gravely.

She had never seen a man do that before. And it looked so funny! Sylvia
felt inclined to burst out laughing. But all she did was to nod gravely,
and the Count, sitting down, took no further apparent notice of her.

There were a good many people in the large room; parties of two, three,
and four, talking merrily together, as is the way with French people at
their meals. No one was alone save the Comte de Virieu and herself.
Sylvia wondered if he felt as lonely as she did.

Towards the end of dinner the host came in and beamed on his guests; then
he walked across to where Mrs. Bailey sat by herself. "I hope Madame is
satisfied with her dinner," he said pleasantly. "Madame must always tell
me if there is anything she does not like."

He called the youngest of the three waitresses. "Felicie! You must look
very well after Madame," he said solemnly. "Make her comfortable, attend
to her slightest wish"--and then he chuckled--"This is my niece," he
said, "a very good girl! She is our adopted daughter. Madame will only
have to ask her for anything she wants."

Sylvia felt much happier, and no longer lonely. It was all rather
absurd--but it was all very pleasant! She had never met an hotel keeper
like little Polperro, one at once so familiar and so inoffensive in
manner.

"Thank you so much," she said, "but I am more than comfortable! And after
dinner I shall go to the Casino to meet my friend, Madame Wolsky."

After they had finished dinner most of M. Polperro's guests streamed out
into the garden; and there coffee was served to them on little round iron
tables