He had thought Lacville would be like that.

He had imagined himself arriving at a quiet, rural, little country inn, and had seen himself kindly, if a little shyly, welcomed by Sylvia.

He could almost have laughed at the contrast between the place his fancy had painted and the place he had found, at what he had thought would happen, and at what had happened! As they trudged along, Chester, glancing to his right, saw that there were still a great many boats floating on the lake.

Did Lacville folk never go to bed?
"Yes," said Madame Wachner, quickly divining his thoughts, "some of the people 'ere--why, they stay out on the water all night! Then they catch the early train back to Paris in the morning, and go and work all day.
Ah, yes, it is indeed a splendid thing to be young!" She sighed, a long, sentimental sigh, and looked across, affectionately, at L'Ami Fritz.
"I do not feel my youth to be so very far away," she said.

"But then, the people in my dear country are not cynical as are the French!" Her husband strode forward in gloomy silence, probably thinking over the money he might have made or lost had he played that evening, instead of only noting down the turns of the game.
Madame Wachner babbled on, making conversation for Chester.
She was trying to find out something more about this quiet Englishman.
Why had he come to Lacville?
How long was he going to stay here?
What was his real relation to Sylvia Bailey?
Those were the questions that the pretty English widow's new friend was asking herself, finding answers thereto which were unsatisfactory, because vague and mysterious.
At last she ventured a direct query.
"Are you going to stay long in this beautiful place, Monsieur ?" "I don't know," said Chester shortly.