"The Comte de Virieu has to go away to the funeral of his godmother. I am
sorry, for I should have liked you to have become friends with him. He
was at school in England--that is why he speaks English so well."

While they were enjoying the excellent luncheon prepared for them by M.
Polperro, Chester was uncomfortably aware that the Count, sitting at his
solitary meal at another table, could, should he care to do so, overhear
every word the other two were saying.

But Paul de Virieu did not look across or talk as an Englishman would
probably have done had he been on familiar terms with a fellow-guest in
an hotel. Instead he devoted himself, in the intervals of the meal, to
reading a paper. But now and again Chester, glancing across, could see
the other man's eyes fixed on himself with a penetrating, thoughtful
look. What did this Frenchman mean by staring at him like that?

As for Sylvia, she was obviously ill at ease. She talked quickly, rather
disconnectedly, of the many things appertaining to her life at home, in
Market Dalling, which she had in common with the English lawyer. She only
touched on the delightful time she had had in Paris, and she said nothing
of Lacville.

Long before the others had finished, Count Paul got up; before leaving
the dining-room, he turned and bowed ceremoniously to Sylvia and her
companion. With his disappearance it seemed to Chester that Sylvia at
once became her natural, simple, eager, happy self. She talked less, she
listened more, and at last Chester began to enjoy his holiday.

They went out again into the garden, and the wide lawn, with its shaded
spaces of deep green, was a delicious place in which to spend a quiet,