Sylvia Bailey knew something of the France of the past.

The quiet, clever, old-fashioned Frenchwoman by whom she had been educated had seen to that.

She could wander through the narrow streets on the other side of the Seine, and reconstitute the amazing, moving, tragic things which happened there during the great Revolution.
She was now half sorry to think that in ten days or so she had promised to join some acquaintances in Switzerland.

Luckily her trustee and would-be lover, Bill Chester, proposed to come out and join the party there.

That was something to look forward to, for Sylvia was very fond of him, though he sometimes made her angry by his fussy ways.