"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." CHAPTER 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 Chalet 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 she had never been in a French private house. "Au Chalet des Muguets," called out Madame Wachner to the driver. He nodded and turned his horse round. Soon they were making their way along newly-made roads, cut through what had evidently been, not so very long before, a great stretch of forest land. "The good people of Lacville are in a hurry to make money," observed Madame Wachner in French. "I am told that land here has nearly trebled in value the last few years, though houses are still cheap." "It seems a pity they should destroy such beautiful woods," said Sylvia regretfully, remembering what the Comte de Virieu had said only that morning.