“No, madame.”
“Say that she is to be admitted as soon as she comes. But first put out the lamp in the drawing-room, and if anyone comes, say that I have not come back and shall not be coming back.”
She was like a woman who is preoccupied with something, and perhaps annoyed by an unwelcome guest. I did not know what to do or say. Marguerite went toward her bedroom; I remained where I was.
“Come,” she said.
She took off her hat and her velvet cloak and threw them on the bed, then let herself drop into a great armchair beside the fire, which she kept till the very beginning of summer, and said to me as she fingered her watch-chain:
“Well, what news have you got for me?”
“None, except that I ought not to have come to-night.”
“Why?”
“Because you seem vexed, and no doubt I am boring you.”
“You are not boring me; only I am not well; I have been suffering all day. I could not sleep, and I have a frightful headache.”