trees looked as if they must be far from a great city, there suddenly glided in a tiny old lady, dressed in a sweeping black gown and little frilled lace cap.
Count Paul bowing low before her, kissed her waxen-looking right hand.
"My dear godmother, let me present to you Mrs. Bailey," and Sylvia felt herself being closely, rather pitilessly, inspected by shrewd though not unkindly eyes—eyes sunken, dimmed by age, yet seeing more, perhaps, than younger eyes would have seen.
The old Marquise beckoned to Count Paul, and together they slowly walked through into the garden and paced away down a shaded alley. For the first time Sylvia and Marie-Anne d'Eglemont were alone together.
"I wish to thank you for your kindness to my poor Paul," the Duchesse spoke in a low, hesitating voice. "You have so much influence over him, Madame."
Sylvia shook her head.
"Ah! But yes, you have!" She looked imploringly at Sylvia. "You know what I mean? You know what I would ask you to do? My husband could give Paul work in the country, work he would love, for he adores horses, if only he could be rescued from this terrible infatuation, this passion for play."
She stopped abruptly, for the Count and his little, fairy-like godmother had turned round, and were now coming towards them.
Sylvia rose instinctively to her feet, for the tiny Marquise was very imposing.
"Sit down, Madame," she said imperiously, and Sylvia meekly obeyed.
