But Madame Wachner was evidently very pleased with her temporary home, and quite satisfied with its surroundings.
"It is a pretty 'ouse, is it not?" she asked in English, and smiling broadly. "And only one thousand francs, furnished, for the 'ole season!"
Sylvia quickly made a mental calculation. Forty pounds? Yes, she supposed that was very cheap—for Lacville.
"We come in May, and we may stay till October," said Madame Wachner, still speaking in a satisfied tone. "I made a bargain with a woman from the town. She comes each morning, cooks what I want, and does the 'ousework. Often we 'ave our déjeuner out and dine at 'ome, or we dine close to the Casino—just as we choose. Food is so dear in France, it makes little difference whether we stay at 'ome or not for meals."
They were now close to the chocolate-coloured door of the Châlet, and Madame Wachner, to Sylvia Bailey's surprise and amusement, lifted a corner of the shabby outside mat, and took from under it a key. With it she opened the door. "Walk in," she said familiarly, "and welcome, Madame, to my 'ome!"
Sylvia found herself in a bare little hall, so bare indeed that there was not even a hat and umbrella stand there.
Her hostess walked past her and opened a door which gave into a darkened room.
"This is our dining-room," she said proudly. "Walk in, Madame. It is 'ere we had better 'ave tea, perhaps."
Sylvia followed her. How dark, and how very hot it was in here! She could see absolutely nothing for some moments, for she was blinded by the sudden change from the bright light of the hall to the dim twilight of the closely-shuttered room.
Then gradually she began to see everything—or rather the little there was to be seen—and she felt surprised, and a little disappointed.