Several quiet Frenchmen, who had offices in the neighbourhood, were "_en
pension_" at the Hotel de l'Horloge, and as the two friends came in many
were the steady, speculative glances cast in their direction.
To the average Frenchman every woman is interesting; for every Frenchman
is in love with love, and in each fair stranger he sees the possible
heroine of a romance in which he may play the agreeable part of hero.
So it was that Sylvia Bailey and Anna Wolsky both had their silent
admirers among those who lunched and dined in the narrow green and
white dining-room of the Hotel de l'Horloge.
Only a Frenchman would have given a second look at the Polish lady while
Sylvia was by, but a Frenchman, being both a philosopher and a logician
by nature, is very apt to content himself with the second-best when he
knows the best is not for him.
The two friends were in entire contrast to one another. Madame Wolsky was
tall, dark, almost swarthy; there was a look of rather haughty pride and
reserve on her strong-featured face. She dressed extremely plainly, the
only ornament ever worn by her being a small gold horseshoe, in the
centre of which was treasured--so, not long ago, she had confided to
Sylvia, who had been at once horrified and thrilled--a piece of the rope
with which a man had hanged himself at Monte Carlo two years before! For
Madame Wolsky--and she made no secret of the fact to her new friend--was
a gambler.
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