What an apparition, in such an austere and dreary place, that frail, white-robed form standing on the threshold, a tender smile of dawn in the dark room! She entered on tip-toe, approaching her father with greeting in her eyes and on her lips; he, continuing his walk, had his back towards her.
"Already here?" she asked, and her voice fell on the silence like an angelus.
Monsieur de Pontivy turned abruptly.
"How is it that you enter without knocking?"
The smile died on the child's lips. She murmured, disconcerted and abashed—
"I never used to knock, father, on entering your room."
"Then make it a point to do so in future. You are no longer a child; so learn to be discreet and to respect closed doors. A closed room, mademoiselle, is a sanctuary."
The young girl was accustomed to sermons, but had not expected one of that kind just then. She stood irresolute, hesitating whether to advance or retire.
"Must I go?" she hazarded, trembling.
Monsieur de Pontivy, satisfied at having vented his ill-humour, stooped to kiss his daughter's forehead, and then added, as if to soften the effects of his reception—