Sylvia had a broken night, and she was still sleeping heavily when she
was wakened by the now familiar sound of the horses being brought into
the courtyard. She jumped out of bed and peeped through an opening in
the closed curtains.
It was a beautiful morning. The waters of the lake dimpled in the sun.
A door opened, and Sylvia heard voices. Then Count Paul was going riding
after all, and by himself? Sylvia felt a pang of unreasoning anger and
regret.
Paul de Virieu and M. Polperro were standing side by side; suddenly she
saw the hotel-keeper hand the Count, with a gesture of excuse, the note
she had written the night before. Count Paul read it through, then he put
it back in its envelope, and placed it in the breast pocket of his coat.
He did not send the horses away, as Sylvia in her heart had rather hoped
he would do, but he said a word to M. Polperro, who ran into the Villa
and returned a moment later with something which he handed, with a
deferential bow to the Count.
It was a cardcase, and Paul de Virieu scribbled something on a card and
gave it to M.
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