There had arisen between the Frenchman and herself a kind of
close, wordless understanding and sympathy which she, at any rate, still
called "friendship." But she would probably have assented to Meredith's
words, "Friendship, I fancy, means one heart between two."
At last she fell into a troubled sleep, and dreamt a disturbing dream.
She found herself wandering about the Chalet des Muguets, trying to find
a way out of the locked and shuttered building. The ugly little rooms
were empty. It was winter, and she was shivering with cold. Someone must
have locked her in by mistake. She had been forgotten....
"Toc, toc, toc!" at the door. And Sylvia sat up in bed relieved of her
nightmare. It was eight o'clock! She had overslept herself. Felicie was
bringing in her tea, and on the tray lay a letter addressed in a
handwriting Sylvia did not know, and on which was a French stamp.
She turned the pale-grey envelope over doubtfully, wondering if it was
really meant for her. But yes--of that there could be no doubt, for it
was addressed, "Madame Bailey, Villa du Lac, Lacville-les-Bains.
Pages:
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175