“But you are young and beautiful. It would be a crime for you not to get married again!” Madame Wachner persisted; and then, “I love beauty,” she cried enthusiastically. “You did not see me, Madame, last week, but I saw you, and I said to my ’usband, ‘There is a very beautiful person come to Lacville, Fritz!’ ’E laughed at me. ‘Now you will be satisfied—now you will ’ave something to look at,’ ’e says. And it is quite true! When I come back that night I was very sorry to see you not there. But we will meet often now,” she concluded pleasantly, “for I suppose, Madame, that you too intend to play?”
That was the second time she had asked the question.
“I shall play a little,” said Sylvia, blushing, “but of course I do not want to get into the habit of gambling.”
“No, indeed, that would be terrible! And then there are not many who can afford to gamble and to lose their good money.” She looked inquiringly at Sylvia. “But, there,” she sighed—her fat face became very grave—“it is extraordinary ’ow some people manage to get money—I mean those ’oo are determined to play!”
And then, changing the subject, Madame Wachner suddenly began to tell her new acquaintance all about the tragic death by drowning of her and her husband’s friend at Aix-les-Bains the year before. She now spoke in French, but with a peculiar guttural accent.
“I never talk of it before Fritz,” she said quickly, “but, of course, we both often think of it still. Oh, it was a terrible thing! We were devoted to this young Russian friend of ours. He and Fritz worked an excellent system together—the best Fritz ever invented—and for a little while they made money. But his terribly sad death broke our luck”—she shook her head ominously.
“How did it happen?” said Sylvia sympathetically.
And then Madame Wachner once again broke into her h-less English.
“They went together in a boat on Lake Bourget—it is a real lake, that lake, not like the little fishpond ’ere. A storm came on, and the boat upset. Fritz did his best to save the unfortunate one, but ’e could not swim. You can imagine my sensations? I was in a summer-’ouse, trembling with fright. Thunder, lightning, rain, storm, all round! Suddenly I see Fritz, pale as death, wet through, totter up the path from the lake. ‘Where is Sasha?’ I shriek out to ’im. And ’e shake ’is ’ead despairingly—Sasha was in the lake!”
The speaker stared before her with a look of vivid terror on her face. It was almost as if she saw the scene she was describing—nay, as if she saw the pale, dead face of the drowned man. It gave her companion a cold feeling of fear.
“And was it long before they found him?” asked Sylvia in a low tone.
“They never did find ’im,” said Madame Wachner, her voice sinking to a whisper. “That was the extraordinary thing—Sasha’s body was never found! Many people thought the money ’e ’ad on ’is person weighed ’im down, kept ’im entangled in the weeds at the bottom of the lake. Did not your friend tell you it made talk?”
“Yes,” said Sylvia.
“ ’E ’ad not much money on ’is person,” repeated Madame Wachner, “but still there was a good deal more than was found in ’is bedroom. That, of course, was ’anded over to the authorities. They insisted on keeping it.”
“But I suppose his family got it in the end?” said Sylvia.
“No. ’E ’ad no family. You see, our friend was a Russian nobleman, but he had also been a Nihilist, so ’e ’ad concealed ’is identity. It was fortunate for us that we ’ad got to know an important person in the police; but for that we might ’ave ’ad much worry”—she shook her head. “They were so much annoyed that poor Sasha ’ad no passport. But, as I said to them—for Fritz quite lost ’is ’ead, and could say nothing—not ’alf, no, not a quarter of the strangers in Aix ’as passports, though, of course, it is a good and useful thing to ’ave one. I suppose, Madame, that you ’ave a passport?”
She stopped short, and looked at Sylvia with that eager, inquiring look which demands an answer even to the most unimportant question.
“A passport?” repeated Sylvia Bailey, surprised. “No, indeed! I’ve never even seen one. Why should I have a passport?”
“When you are abroad it is always a good thing to ’ave a passport,” said Madame Wachner quickly. “You see, it enables you to be identified. It gives your address at ’ome. But I do not think that you can get one now—no, it is a thing that one must get in one’s own country, or, at any rate,” she corrected herself, “in a country where you ’ave resided a long time.”
“What is your country, Madame?” asked Sylvia. “Are you French? I suppose Monsieur Wachner is German?”
Madame Wachner shook her head.
“Oh, ’e would be cross to ’ear that! No, no, Fritz is Viennese—a gay Viennese! As for me, I am”—she waited a moment—“well, Madame, I am what the French call ‘une vraie cosmopolite’—oh, yes, I am a true citizeness of the world.”
VIII
They had been driving a considerable time, and at last the coachman, turning round on his seat, asked where they wished to go next.
“I ask you to come and ’ave tea with me,” said Madame Wachner turning to Sylvia. “We are not very far from the Châlet des Muguets, and I ’ave some excellent tea there. We will ’ave a rest, and tell the man to come back for us in one hour. What do you think of that, Madame?”
“It is very kind of you,” said Sylvia gratefully; and, indeed, she did think it very kind. It would be pleasant to rest a while in the Wachner’s villa and have tea there.
Sylvia was in the mood to enjoy every new experience, however trifling, and
