There the matter dropped for the moment. It was not an unusual thing for Nicolette to run out into the garden at all hours of the day or evening, and to stay out late, and Deydier was not surprised that the child should have wished to be let in peace for awhile. Margaï went back to her kitchen to see about supper, and Deydier lighted a second pipe: a very unusual thing for him to do. At seven o’clock Margaï put her head in through the door.
“The child is not in yet,” she said laconically, “and she is not in the garden. I have been round to see.”
“Didst call for her, Margaï?” Deydier asked.
“Aye! I called once or twice. Then I stood at the gate thinking I would see her go up the road. She should be in by now. It has started to rain.”
Deydier jumped to his feet.
“Raining,” he exclaimed, “and the child out at this hour? Why didst not come sooner, Margaï, and tell me?”
“She is often out later than this,” was Margaï’s reply. “But she usually comes in when it rains.”
“Did she take a cloak with her when she went?”
“She has her shawl. Maybe,” the old woman added after a slight pause, “she went to meet him somewhere.”
To this suggestion Deydier made no reply, but it seemed to Margaï that he muttered an oath between his teeth, which was a very unusual thing for Mossou Jaume to do. Without saying another word, however, he stalked out of the parlour, and presently Margaï heard his heavy footstep crossing the corridor and the vestibule, then the opening and the closing of the front door.