Now, for the first time, she found herself close to a Frenchman without
feeling either uncomfortably or amusingly aware of a steady, unwinking
stare. It was quite an odd sensation to find herself thus neglected!

Without actually looking round, Sylvia, out of the corner of her blue
eye, could see this exceptional Frenchman. He was dressed in white
flannels, and he wore rather bright pink socks and a pink tie to match.
He must be, she decided, something of a dandy. Though still a young man,
he was rather bald, and he had a thick fair moustache. He looked bored
and very grave; she could not help wondering why he was staying at
Lacville.

M. Polperro suddenly appeared at the door. "Would M. le Comte prefer
scrambled eggs or an omelette?" he asked obsequiously, and "M. le Comte"
lifted his head and answered shortly, but with a smile, "Scrambled eggs,
my good Polperro."

Doubtless this was the gentleman who was brother-in-law of the French
Duke mentioned by M. Girard. He spoke to the chef with the kindly
familiarity born of long knowledge.

After having given the Count his scrambled eggs, the young waitress came
over to where Sylvia was sitting. "Would Madame like to have her coffee
in the garden?" she asked; and Sylvia said that she would.

How enchanting was the garden of the Villa du Lac, and how unlike any
hotel garden she had ever seen! The smooth, wide lawn was shaded with
noble cedars and bright green chestnut trees; it was paradise compared
with the rather stuffy little Hôtel de l'Horloge and the dusty Paris