After a while Sylvia suddenly remembered that the Count had thrown his cigarette away before speaking to her.

“Won’t you smoke?” she said.

“Are you sure you don’t mind, Madame?”

“No, of course I don’t mind!” and she was just going to add that her husband had been a great smoker, when some feeling she could not have analysed to herself made her alter her words to “My father smoked all day long—­”

The Count got up and went off towards the house.  Sylvia supposed he had gone to get his cigarette-case; but a moment later he came back and sat down by her again.  And then very soon out came the host’s pretty little niece with a shawl over her arm.  “I have brought Madame a shawl,” said the girl, smiling, “for it’s getting a little cold,” and Sylvia felt touched.  How very kind French people were—­how kind and how thoughtful!

It struck half-past eight.  Mrs. Bailey and the Comte de Virieu had been talking for quite a long time.

Sylvia jumped up.  “I must go now,” she cried, a little regretfully.  “I promised to meet my friend in the hall of the Casino at half-past eight.  She must be there waiting for me, now.”

“If you will allow me to do so, I will escort you to the Casino,” said the Count.

Sylvia ran upstairs to put on her hat and gloves.  On the table which did duty for a dressing-table there was a small nosegay of flowers in a glass of water.  It had not been there before she had come down to dinner.

As she put on a large black tulle hat she told herself with a happy smile that Lacville was an enchanting, a delightful place, and that she already felt quite at home here!

The Comte de Virieu was waiting for her in the hall.

“I think I ought to introduce myself to you, Madame,” he said solemnly.  “My name is Paul de Virieu.”

“And mine is Sylvia Bailey,” she said, a little breathlessly.

As they were hurrying along the short piece of road which led to the lane in which the Casino of Lacville is situated, the Count said suddenly, “Will you pardon me, Madame, if I take the liberty of saying that you should arrange for your friend to call for you on those evenings that you intend to spend at the Casino?  It is not what English people call ‘proper’ for you to go to the Casino alone, or only accompanied by a stranger—­for I, alas! am still a stranger to you.”

There was no touch of coquetry or flirtation in the voice in which he said those words.  Sylvia blushed violently, but she did not feel annoyed, only queerly touched by his solicitude for—­well, she supposed it was for her reputation.

“You see, Madame,” he went on soberly, “you look very young—­I mean, pardon me, you are very young, and I will confess to you that the first time I saw you I thought you were a ‘Miss.’  Of course, I saw at once that you were English.”

“An English girl would hardly have come all by herself to Lacville!” said Sylvia a little flippantly.