Surely the oilcloth had not been there on her last
visit to the villa? She remembered clearly the unpolished parquet floor.
Thanks to the hostess and to Sylvia herself, supper was a bright, merry
meal. There was a variety of cold meats, some fine fruit, and a plate of
dainty pastry.
They all waited on one another, though Madame Wachner insisted on doing
most of the work. But L'Ami Fritz, for once looking cheerful and eager,
mixed the salad, putting in even more vinegar than oil, as Mrs. Bailey
laughingly confessed that she hated olive oil!
After they had eaten their appetising little meal, the host went off into
the kitchen where Sylvia had had tea on her first visit to the Chalet,
and there he made the most excellent coffee for them all, and even Mrs.
Bailey, who was treated as the guest of honour, though she knew that
coffee was not good for her, was tempted into taking some.
One thing, however, rather dashed her pleasure in the entertainment.
Madame Wachner, forgetting for once her usual tact, suddenly made a
violent attack on the Comte de Virieu.
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