"
Sylvia felt the sudden sense of surprise, almost of discomfiture, the
young always feel in the neighbourhood of death.
"How dreadful! She seemed quite well when we saw her that day--"
She could still hear echoing in her ears the old lady's half-mocking but
kindly compliments.
"Ah! but she was very, very old--over ninety! Why, she was supposed to
be aged when she became my godmother thirty odd years ago!"
He waited a moment, and then added, quietly, "She has left me in her will
two hundred thousand francs."
"Oh, I _am_ glad!"
Sylvia stretched out both hands impulsively, and the Comte de Virieu took
first one and then the other and raised them to his lips.
"Eight thousand pounds? Does it seem a fortune to you, Madame?"
"Of course it does!" exclaimed Sylvia.
"It frees me from the necessity of being a pensioner on my
brother-in-law," he said slowly, and Sylvia felt a little chill
of disappointment. Was that his only pleasure in his legacy?
"You will not play with _this_ money?" she said, in a low voice.
"It is no use my making a promise, especially to you, that I might not be
able to keep--"
He got up, and stood looking down at her.
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