"Pardon me, it is not at all extraordinary. A great deal of the money which would otherwise go into the pockets of these tradesmen goes now to enrich the anonymous shareholders of the Casino of Lacville! Of course, Paris hotel-keepers are not in quite the same position as are the other Parisian trades-people. Lacville does not do them much harm, for the place is so near Paris that foreigners, if they go there at all, generally go out for the day. Only the most confirmed gambler cares actually to _live_ at Lacville." He looked significantly at Sylvia, and she felt a wave of hot colour break over her face. "Yes, I know what you must be thinking, and it is, indeed, the shameful truth! I, Madame, have the misfortune to be that most miserable and most God-forsaken of living beings, a confirmed gambler." The Count spoke in a tone of stifled pain, almost anger, and Sylvia gazed up at his stern, sad face with pity and concern filling her kind heart. "I will tell you my story in a few words," he went on, and then he sat down by her, and began tracing with his stick imaginary patterns on the stone floor. "I was destined for what I still regard as the most agreeable career in the world--that of diplomacy. You see how I speak English? Well, Madame, I speak German and Spanish equally well. And then, most unhappily for me, my beloved mother died, and I inherited from her a few thousand pounds. I felt very miserable, and I happened to be at the moment idle. A friend persuaded me to go to Monte Carlo. That fortnight, Madame, changed my life--made me what the English call 'an idle good-for-nothing.' Can you wonder that I warn you against staying at Lacville?" Sylvia was touched, as well as surprised, by his confidences. His words breathed sincerity, and the look of humiliation and pain on his face had deepened. He looked white and drawn. "It is very kind of you to tell me this, and I am very much obliged to you for your warning," she said in a low tone. But the Comte de Virieu went on as if he hardly heard her words. "The lady with whom you first came to Lacville--I mean the Polish lady--is well known to me by sight. For the last three years I have seen her at Monte Carlo in the winter, and at Spa and Aix-les-Bains in the summer. Of course I was not at all surprised to see her turn up here, but I confess, Madame, that I was very much astonished to see with her a"--he hesitated a moment--"a young English lady. You would, perhaps, be offended if I were to tell you exactly what I felt when I saw you at the Casino!" "I do not suppose I should be offended," said Sylvia softly. "I felt, Madame, as if I saw a lily growing in a field of high, rank, evil-smelling--nay, perhaps I should say, poisonous--weeds."