lately, Sylvia. You have looked very sad sometimes. Oh, do not be afraid, you are quite as pretty as ever you were!"
The tears were running down Sylvia's face. She felt that she ought to be very angry with her friend for speaking thus plainly to her, and yet she could not be angry. Anna spoke so tenderly, so kindly, so delicately.
"Shall we go away from Lacville?" asked Madame Wolsky, suddenly. "There are a hundred places where you and I could go together. Let us leave Lacville! I am sure you feel just as I do—I am sure you realise that the Comte de Virieu would never make you happy."
Sylvia shook her head.
"I do not want to go away," she whispered.
And then Madame Wolsky uttered a short exclamation.
"Ah!" she cried, "I understand. He is the friend you are to meet to-morrow—that is why you are going into Paris!"
Sylvia remained silent.
"I understand it all now," went on Anna. "That is the reason why he was not there to-night. He has gone into Paris so as not to compromise you at Lacville. That is the sort of gallantry that means so little! As if Lacville matters—but tell me this, Sylvia? Has he ever spoken to you as if he desired to introduce his family to you? That is the test, remember—that is the test of a Frenchman's regard for a woman."
There came a knock at the door. "The carriage for Madame has arrived."
They went downstairs, Sylvia having left her friend's last question unanswered.
