"Yes," his wife went on, volubly, "that sad affair made Aix very
unpleasant to us! After that we spent the winter in various pensions,
and then, instead of going back to Aix, we came 'ere. So far, I am quite
satisfied with Lacville."
Though she spoke with a very bad accent and dropped her aitches, her
English was quick and colloquial.
"Lacville is a cosy, 'appy place!" she cried, and this time she smiled
full at Sylvia, and Sylvia told herself that the woman's face, if very
plain, was like a sunflower,--so broad, so kindly, so good-humoured!
When dejeuner was over, the four had coffee together, and the melancholy
Monsieur Wachner, who was so curiously unlike his bright, vivacious wife,
at last broke into eager talk, for he and Anna Wolsky had begun to
discuss different gambling systems. His face lighted up; it was easy
to see what interested and stimulated this long, lanky man whose wife
addressed him constantly as "Ami Fritz."
"Now 'e is what the English call 'obby-'orse riding," she exclaimed, with
a loud laugh. "To see 'im in all 'is glory you should see my Fritz at
Monte Carlo!" she was speaking to Sylvia.
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