It
was this broken branch, of which the leaves had shrivelled up, that had
first drawn her attention to the fact that someone must have been there,
and recently.
Her thoughts wandered off to Bill Chester. He was now actually journeying
towards her as fast as boat and train could bring him; in a couple of
hours he would be in Paris, and then, perhaps, he would come out to
Lacville in time for dinner.
Sylvia had not been able to get a room for him in the Villa du Lac, but
she had engaged one in the Pension Malfait--where she had been able to
secure the apartment which had been occupied by Anna Wolsky, whose things
had only just been moved out of it.
She could not help being sorry that Bill would see Lacville for the first
time on a Sunday. She feared that, to his English eyes, the place,
especially on that day, would present a peculiarly--well, disreputable
appearance!
Sylvia felt jealous for the good fame of Lacville. Out in the open air
her spirits had recovered their balance; she told herself that she had
been very happy here--singularly, extraordinarily happy.
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