“Madame Pierson has also told me—that I should inform you—in fact, I am requested to—”
“Well, what is it?” I cried, impatiently.
“Sir, you are becoming violent! I think Madame Pierson is seriously ill; she will not be able to see you this week.”
Another bow, and he retired.
It was clear that his visit concealed some mystery: either Madame Pierson did not wish to see me, and I could not explain why; or Mercanson had interfered on his own responsibility.
I waited until the following day and then presented myself at her door; the servant who met me said that her mistress was indeed very ill and could not see me; she refused to accept the money I offered her, and would not answer my questions.
As I was passing through the village on my return, I saw Mercanson; he was surrounded by a number of schoolchildren, his uncle’s pupils. I stopped him in the midst of his harangue and asked if I could have a word with him.
He followed me aside; but now it was my turn to hesitate, for I was at a loss how to proceed to draw his secret from him.
“Sir,” I finally said, “will you kindly inform me if what you told me yesterday was the truth, or was there some motive behind it? Moreover, as there is not a physician in the neighborhood who can be called in, in case of necessity, it is important that I should know whether her condition is serious.”
He protested that Madame Pierson was ill, but that he knew nothing more, except that she had sent for him and asked him to notify me as he had done. While talking we had walked down the road some distance and had now reached a deserted spot. Seeing that neither strategy nor entreaty would serve my purpose, I suddenly turned and seized him by the arms.