"Surely you must be as well aware as I am that lately he has played a great deal less," said Anna, "and the time that he would have spent at the Club—well, you and I know very well where he has spent the time, Sylvia. He has spent it with you."
"And isn't that a good thing?" asked Sylvia, eagerly. "Isn't it far better that he should spend his time talking to me about ordinary things than in the Casino? Let me assure you again, and most solemnly, Anna, that he never makes love to me—"
"Of course it is a good thing for him that he plays less"—Anna spoke impatiently—"but is it best for you? That is what I ask myself. You have not looked well lately, Sylvia. You have looked very sad sometimes. Oh, do not be afraid, you are quite as pretty as ever you were!"
The tears were running down Sylvia's face. She felt that she ought to be very angry with her friend for speaking thus plainly to her, and yet she could not be angry. Anna spoke so tenderly, so kindly, so delicately.
"Shall we go away from Lacville?" asked Madame Wolsky, suddenly. "There are a hundred places where you and I could go together. Let us leave Lacville! I am sure you feel just as I do—I am sure you realise that the Comte de Virieu would never make you happy."
Sylvia shook her head.
"I do not want to go away," she whispered.
And then Madame Wolsky uttered a short exclamation.
"Ah!" she cried, "I understand. He is the friend you are to meet to-morrow—that is why you are going into Paris!"
Sylvia remained silent.