idle hour. They sat down and drank their coffee under one of the cedars
of Lebanon.

"This is a very delightful, curious kind of hotel," he said at last. "And
I confess that now I understand why you like Lacville. But I do wonder a
little, Sylvia"--he looked at her gravely--"that you enjoy going to that
Casino."

"You see, there's so very little else to do here!" she exclaimed,
deprecatingly. "And then, after all, Bill, I don't see what harm there
is in risking one's money if one can afford to do so!"

He shook his head at her--playfully, but seriously too. "Don't you?" he
asked dryly.

"Why, there's Madame Wachner," said Sylvia suddenly, and Chester thought
there was a little touch of relief in her voice.

"Madame Wachner?" And then the Englishman, gazing at the stout, squat
figure which was waddling along the grass towards them, remembered.

This was the good lady who had been so kind to him the night before; nay,
who had actually offered to give him a bed if the Pension Malfait had
been closed.

"We 'ave lunched in the town," she said, partly addressing Chester, "and
so I thought I would come and ask you, Madame Sylvia, whether you and
your friend will come to tea at the Villa des Muguets to-day?" She fixed
her bright little eyes on Sylvia's face.