Behind them came the gruff and the shrill tones of L'Ami Fritz and his wife raised in indignant expostulation.
"Are you coming, Sylvia?" called out Chester impatiently.
He had gone on into the garden, unwilling to assume any responsibility as to the police. After all, there was no evidence, not what English law would recognise as evidence, against these people.
Out in the darkness, with the two men, one on either side of her, Sylvia walked slowly to the gate. Between them they got her over it and into the victoria.
Paul de Virieu pulled out the little back seat, but Chester, taking quick possession of it, motioned him to sit by Mrs. Bailey.
"To Paris, Hôtel du Louvre," the Count called out to the driver. "You can take as long as you like over the journey!"
Then he bent forward to Chester, "The air will do her good," he murmured.
By his side, huddled up in a corner of the carriage, Sylvia lay back inertly; but her eyes were wide open, and she was staring hungrily at the sky, at the stars. She had never thought to see the sky and the stars again.
They were now moving very slowly, almost at a foot's pace.
The driver was accustomed to people who suddenly decided to drive all the way back to Paris from Lacville after an evening's successful or, for the matter of that, unsuccessful play. He had been very much relieved to see his two gentlemen come back from the châlet and to leave the gendarmes behind. He had no wish to get mixed up in a fracas, no wish, that is, to have any embarrassments with the police.