The old Marquise beckoned to Count Paul, and together they slowly walked
through into the garden and paced away down a shaded alley. For the first
time Sylvia and Marie-Anne d'Eglemont were alone together.
"I wish to thank you for your kindness to my poor Paul," the Duchesse
spoke in a low, hesitating voice. "You have so much influence over him,
Madame."
Sylvia shook her head.
"Ah! But yes, you have!" She looked imploringly at Sylvia. "You know what
I mean? You know what I would ask you to do? My husband could give Paul
work in the country, work he would love, for he adores horses, if only he
could be rescued from this terrible infatuation, this passion for play."
She stopped abruptly, for the Count and his little, fairy-like godmother
had turned round, and were now coming towards them.
Sylvia rose instinctively to her feet, for the tiny Marquise was very
imposing.
"Sit down, Madame," she said imperiously, and Sylvia meekly obeyed.
The old lady fixed her eyes with an appraising gaze on her godson's
English friend.
"Permit me to embrace you," she exclaimed suddenly.
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