me—but I told her I feared you had no riding habit! You and she, however, are much the same height, and she thinks that she might be able to lend you one if you will honour her by accepting the loan of it during the time you are at Lacville."
Sylvia was bewildered, she scarcely knew how to accept so much kindness.
"If you will write a line to my sister some time to-day," continued the Count, "I will be the bearer of your letter."
That day marked a very great advance in the friendship of Sylvia Bailey and Paul de Virieu.
Till that day, much as he had talked to her about himself and his life, and the many curious adventures he had had, for he had travelled a great deal, and was a cultivated man, he had very seldom spoken to her of his relations.
But to-day he told her a great deal about them, and she found herself taking a very keen, intimate interest in this group of French people whom she had never seen—whom, perhaps, with one exception, she never would see.
How unlike English folk they must be—these relations of Count Paul! For the matter of that, how unlike any people Sylvia had ever seen or heard of.
First, he told her of the sweet-natured, pious young duchess who was to be her hostess on the morrow—the sister whom Paul loved so dearly, and to whom he owed so much.
Then he described, in less kindly terms, her proud narrow-minded, if generous, husband, the French duke
