"Madame Wachner! Madame Wachner!" she cried out eagerly, and the car drew up with a jerk. That citizeness of the world, as she had called herself, stepped down from the kerb. She looked hot and tired. It was a most unusual time for Madame Wachner to be out walking, and by herself, in Lacville. But Sylvia was thinking too much about Anna Wolsky to trouble about anything else. "Have you heard that Anna Wolsky is away for the day?" she exclaimed. "I have received such a mysterious message from the Pension Malfait! Do come with me there and find out where she has gone and when she is coming back. Did she say anything about going into Paris when she had supper with you last night?" With a smile and many voluble thanks Madame Wachner climbed up into the open car, and sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. She was very stout, though still so vigorous, and her shrewd, determined face now turned smilingly to the pretty, anxious-eyed Englishwoman. But she waited a few moments before answering Sylvia's eager questions. Then, "I cannot tell you," she said slowly and in French, "what has happened to Madame Wolsky--" "What has happened to her!" cried Sylvia. "What do you mean, Madame Wachner?" "Oh, of course, nothing 'as 'appened." Madame Wachner dropped soothingly into English. "All I mean is that Madame Wolsky did not come to us yesterday evening. We stayed in on purpose, but, as English people say so funnily, she never turn up!" "But she was coming to tea as well as to supper!" "Yes, we waited for 'er a long time, and I 'ad got such a beautiful little supper! But, alas! she did not come--no, not at all." "How odd of her! Perhaps she got a telegram which contained bad news--" "Yes," said Madame Wachner eagerly, "no doubt. For this morning when I go to the Pension Malfait, I 'ear that she 'as gone away! It was for that I was 'urrying to the Villa du Lac to see if you knew anything, dear friend." "Gone away?" repeated Sylvia, bewildered. "But it is inconceivable that Anna could have left Lacville without telling me--or, for the matter of that, without telling you, too--" "She 'as taken what you in England call 'French leave,'" said Madame Wachner drily. "It was not very considerate of 'er. She might 'ave sent us word last night. We would not then 'ave waited to 'ave our nice supper." "She can't have gone away without telling me," repeated Sylvia. She was staring straight into her companion's red face: Madame Wachner still looked very hot and breathless. "I am sure she would never have done such a thing. Why should she?" The older woman shrugged her shoulders. "I expect she will come back soon," she said consolingly. "She 'as left her luggage at the Pension Malfait, and that, after all, does not look as if she 'as gone for evare!"