And then, as a sudden thought struck her that possibly he had been deputed by grandmother and aunty, who _must_ have missed her by now, to look for her, she glanced up at him again with the inquiry, had he, perhaps, seen a little girl like her?
_just_ like her?
[Illustration: SYLVIA LOST IN THE LOUVRE.] "Une petite fille comme Mademoiselle ?" replied the man smiling, but not taking in the sense of the question.

"No, he had not." How could there be two little demoiselles, "tout-a-fait pareilles ?" He shook his head, good-natured but mystified, and Sylvia, getting frightened again, thanked him and sped off anew.
The next doorway--by this time she had unconsciously in her panic and confusion begun actually to retrace her steps round the main court of the palace--brought her again into a room filled with statuary and antiquities.

She was getting so tired, so out of breath, that the excitement now deserted her.

She sat down on the ledge of one of the great marble vases, in a corner where her little figure was almost hidden from sight, and began to think, as quietly and composedly as she could, what she should do.

The tears were slowly creeping up into her eyes again; she let two or three fall, and then resolutely drove the others back.
"What shall I do ?" she thought, and joined to her own terrors there was now the certainty of the anxiety and misery the others must, by this time, be suffering on her account.