me? I couldn't hear you properly. We were going too fast."

"Is it possible, is it conceivable, that you are thinking of marrying
this Frenchman?"

"No," said Sylvia, very quietly, "I am not thinking of marrying the Comte
de Virieu. But he is my friend. I--I like and respect him. No, Bill, you
need not fear that the Comte de Virieu will ever ask me to become his
wife."

"But if he did?" asked Chester, hoarsely.

"You have no right to ask me such a question," she answered,
passionately; and then, after a pause, she added, in a low voice: "But
if he did, I should say no, Bill."

Her eyes were full of tears. As for Chester, he felt a variety of
conflicting emotions, of which perhaps the strongest was a determination
that if he could not get her no one else should do so. This--this damned
French gambler had touched Sylvia's kind heart. Surely she couldn't care
for a man she had only known a month, and such an affected, dandified
fellow, too?

It was with relief that they both became aware a few moments later that
they were on the outskirts of Lacville.

"Here is the Châlet des Muguets!" exclaimed Sylvia. "Isn't it a funny
little place?"

The English lawyer stared at the bright pink building; with curiosity and