CHAPTER XV
As Sylvia drove away alone from the station, she felt exceedinglytroubled and unhappy.
It was all very well for Madame Wachner to take the matter of AnnaWolsky's disappearance from Lacville so philosophically. The Wachners'acquaintance with Madame Wolsky had been really very slight, and theynaturally knew nothing of the Polish woman's inner nature andtemperament.
Sylvia told herself that Anna must have been in great trouble, and thatsomething very serious must have happened to her, before she could havegone away like this, without saying anything about it.
If poor Anna had changed her mind, and gone to the Casino the day before,she might, of course, have lost all her winnings and more. Sylviareminded herself that it stood to reason that if one could make hundredsof pounds in an hour or two, then one might equally lose hundreds ofpounds in the same time. But somehow she could hardly believe that herfriend had been so foolish.
Still, how else to account for Anna's disappearance, her sudden exitfrom Lacville? Anna Wolsky was a proud woman, and Sylvia suspected thatif she had come unexpectedly to the end of her resources, she would havepreferred to go away rather than confide her trouble to a new friend.
Tears slowly filled Sylvia Bailey's blue eyes. She felt deeply hurt byAnna's strange conduct.
Madame Wachner's warning as to saying as little as possible of theother's departure from Lacville had made very little impression onSylvia, yet it so far affected her that, instead of telling MonsieurPolperro of the fact the moment she was back at the Villa du Lac, shewent straight up to her own room. But when there she found that she couldsettle down to nothing--neither to a book nor to letters.
Since her husband's death Sylvia Bailey's social circle had become muchlarger, and there were a number of people who enjoyed inviting andmeeting the pretty, wealthy young widow. But just now all these friendsof hers in far-away England seemed quite unreal and, above all, quiteuninteresting.
Sylvia told herself with bitter pain, and again the tears sprang to hereyes, that no one in the wide world really cared for her. Those peoplewho had been going to Switzerland had thrown her over without a thought.Anna Wolsky, who had spoken as if she really loved her only a day or twoago, and who had made that love her excuse for a somewhat impertinentinterference in Sylvia's private affairs, had left Lacville without evensending her word that she was leaving!
True, she had a new and a delightful friend in Count Paul de Virieu. Butwhat if Anna had been right? What if Count Paul were a dangerous friend,or, worse still, only amusing himself at her expense? True, he had takenher to see his sister; but that, after all, might not mean very much.
Sylvia Bailey went through a very mournful hour. She felt terriblydepressed and unhappy, and at last, though there was still a considerabletime to dinner, she went downstairs and out into the garden with a book.
And then, in a moment, everything was changed. From sad, she becamehappy; from mournful and self-pitying, full of exquisite content.
Looking up, Sylvia had seen the now familiar figure of Count Paul deVirieu hurrying towards her.
How early he had left Paris! She had understood that he meant to comeback by the last train, or more probably to-morrow morning.
"Paris was so hot, and my sister found that friends of hers were passingthrough, so I came back earlier than I meant to do," he said a littlelamely; and then, "Is anything the matter?"
He looked with quick, anxious concern into her pale face and red-liddedeyes. "Did you have a bad night at the tables?"
Sylvia shook her head.
"Something so strange--so unexpected--has happened." Her mouth quivered."Anna Wolsky has left Lacville!"
"Left Lacville?" Count Paul repeated, in almost as incredulous a toneas that in which Sylvia herself had said the words when the news hadbeen first brought her. "Have you and she quarrelled, Mrs. Bailey? Youpermit?" He waited till she looked up and said listlessly, "Yes, pleasedo," before lighting his cigarette.
"Quarrelled? Oh, no! She has simply gone away without telling me!"
The Comte de Virieu looked surprised, but not particularly sorry.
"That's very strange," he said. "I should have thought your friend wasnot likely to leave Lacville for many weeks to come."
His acute French mind had already glanced at all the sides of thesituation, and he was surprised at the mixed feelings which filled hisheart. With the Polish woman gone, his young English friend was notlikely to stay on at such a place as Lacville alone.
"But where has Madame Wolsky gone?" he asked quickly. "And why has sheleft? Surely she is coming back?" (Sylvia could certainly stay on a fewdays alone at Lacville, if her friend was coming back.)
But what was this that Mrs. Bailey was saying in so plaintive a tone?
"That's the extraordinary thing about it! I haven't the slightest ideawhere Anna is, or why she has left Lacville." In spite of herself hervoice trembled. "She did not give me the slightest warning of what shewas thinking of doing; in fact, only a few days ago, when we were talkingof our future plans, I tried to persuade her to come back to England withme on a long visit."
"Tell me all that happened," he said, sitting down and speaking in theeager, kindly way he seemed to keep for Sylvia alone.
And then Sylvia told him. She described the coming of the messenger, herjourney to the Pension Malfait, and she repeated, as far as was possible,the exact words of her friend's curiously-worded, abrupt letter to MadameMalfait.
"They all think," she said at last, "that Anna went to the Casino andlost all her money--both the money she made, and the money she broughthere; and that then, not liking to tell even me anything about it, shemade up her mind to go away."
"They _all_ think this?" repeated Count Paul, meaningly. "Whom do youmean by _all_, Mrs. Bailey?"
"I mean the people at the Pension Malfait, and the Wachners--"
"Then you saw the Wachners to-day?"
"I met Madame Wachner as I was going to the Pension Malfait," saidSylvia, "and she went there with me. You see, the Wachners asked Anna tohave supper with them yesterday, and they waited for her ever so long,but she never came. That makes it clear that she must have left Lacvillesome time in the early afternoon. I wish--I cannot help wishing--that Ihad not gone into Paris yesterday, Count Paul."
And then suddenly she realised how ungracious her words must sound.
"No, no," she cried, impetuously. "Of course, I do not mean that! I had avery, very happy time, and your sister was very kind and sweet to me. Butit makes me unhappy to think that Anna may have been worried and anxiousabout money with me away--"
There was a pause, and then, in a very different voice, Sylvia Baileyasked the Comte de Virieu a question that seemed to him utterlyirrelevant.
"Do you believe in fortune-tellers?" she asked abruptly. "Are yousuperstitious?"
"Like everyone else, I have been to such people," he answeredindifferently. "But if you ask my true opinion--well, no; I am quitesceptical! There may be something in what these dealers in hope sometimessay, but more often there is nothing. In fact, you must remember that awitch generally tells her client what she believes her client wishes tohear."
"Madame Wachner is inclined to think that Anna left Lacville because ofsomething which a fortune-teller told her--indeed told both of us--beforewe came here." Mrs. Bailey was digging the point of her parasol in thegrass.
"Tiens! Tiens!" he exclaimed. "That is an odd idea! Pray tell me allabout it. Did you and your friend consult a fashionable necromancer, ordid you content yourselves with going to a cheap witch?"
"To quite a cheap witch."
Sylvia laughed happily; she was beginning to feel really better now. Sherather wondered that she had never told Count Paul about that strangevisit to the fortune-teller, but she had been taught, as are so manyEnglishwomen of her type, to regard everything savouring of superstitionas not only silly and weak-minded, but also as rather discreditable.
"The woman called herself Madame Cagliostra," she went
on gaily, "and sheonly charged five francs. In the end we did pay her fifteen. But she gaveus plenty for our money, I assure you--in fact, I can't remember half thethings she said!"
"And to you was prophesied--?" Count Paul leant forward and looked at herfixedly.
Sylvia blushed.
"Oh, she told me all sorts of things! As you say they don't really knowanything; they only guess. One of the things that she told me was that itwas possible, in fact, quite likely, that I should never go back toEngland--I mean at all! And that if I did so, I should go as a stranger.Wasn't that absurd?"
"Quite absurd," said Count Paul, quietly. "For even if you married again,Madame; if you married a Frenchman, for instance, you would still wish togo back to your own country sometimes--at least, I suppose so."
"Of course I should." And once more Sylvia reddened violently.
But this time Count Paul felt no pleasure in watching the flood ofcarmine staining not only the smooth, rounded cheek, but the whiteforehead and neck of his fair English friend.
Sylvia went on speaking, a little quickly.
"She said almost the same thing to Anna. Wasn't that odd? I mean she saidthat Anna would probably never go back to her own country. But what wasreally very strange was that she did not seem to be able to see intoAnna's future at all. And then--oh well, she behaved very oddly. Afterwe had gone she called us back--" Sylvia stopped for a moment.
"Well?" said Count Paul eagerly. "What happened then?"
He seldom allowed himself the pleasure of looking into Sylvia's blueeyes. Now he asked for nothing better than that she should go on talkingwhile he went on looking at her.
"She made us stand side by side--you must understand, Count, that we hadalready paid her and gone away--when she called us back. She stared at usin a very queer sort of way, and said that we must not leave Paris, or ifwe did leave Paris, we must not leave together. She said that if we didso we should run into danger."
"All rather vague," observed the Count. "And, from the little I know ofher, I should fancy Madame Wolsky the last woman in the world to bereally influenced by that kind of thing."
He hardly knew what he was saying. His only wish was that Sylvia would goon talking to him in the intimate, confiding fashion she was now doing.Heavens! How wretched, how lonely he had felt in Paris after seeing heroff the day before!
"Oh, but at the time Anna was very much impressed," said Sylvia, quickly."Far more than I was--I know it made her nervous when she was firstplaying at the tables. And when she lost so much money the first week wewere here she said to me, 'That woman was right. We ought not to havecome to Lacville!' But afterwards, when she began to be so wonderfullylucky, she forgot all about it, or, rather, she only remembered that thewoman had said to her that she would have a great run of luck."
"Then the woman said that, too," remarked Count Paul, absently.
(What was it his godmother had said? "I felicitate you on your conquest,naughty Paul!" and he had felt angry, even disgusted, with the old lady'scynical compliment. She had added, meaningly, "Why not turn over a newleaf? Why not marry this pretty creature? We should all be pleased to seeyou behave like a reasonable human being.")
But Sylvia was answering him.
"Yes, the woman said that Anna would be very lucky."
The Comte de Virieu thought for a moment, and then withdrew his eyes fromhis friend's face.
"I presume you have already telephoned to the hotel in Paris where youfirst met Madame Wolsky?"
"Why, it never occurred to me to do that!" cried Sylvia. "What a goodidea!"
"Wait," he said. "I will go and do it for you."
But five minutes later he came back, shaking his head. "I am sorry to saythe people at the Hotel de l'Horloge know nothing of Madame Wolsky. Theyhave had no news of her since you and she both left the place. I wonderif the Wachners know more of her disappearance than they have told you?"
"What _do_ you mean?" asked Sylvia, very much surprised.
"They're such odd people," he said, in a dissatisfied voice. "And youknow they were always with your friend. When you were not there, theyhardly ever left her for a moment."
"But I thought I had told you how distressed they are about it? How theywaited for her last evening and how she never came? Oh no, the Wachnersknow nothing," declared Sylvia confidently.