Mme de Trélan gasped. She had no words before a supposition so monstrous. What had begun by resembling farce had turned to something else. Here, in her own garden, to be subjected to the insolent fatuity of this man of no breeding! And Rose Dufour, of all women. . . .
“It is impossible for me to remain at Mirabel to be insulted, Monsieur Camain,” she said very haughtily. “Will you kindly relieve me of my charge here, and replace me as soon as you can? I should prefer to leave to-morrow.”
M. Camain stooped and picked up his cameo-headed cane. With this, rising, he poked the ground for a few seconds.
“I am obliged by the terms of my appointment, Madame Vidal,” he said at the end of them, “to receive notice of resignation in writing.”
“Then you shall have it in writing at once,” returned she. “If you will kindly let me pass——”
He stood aside. “Send it by post, Madame, to-morrow, if you are still of the same mind. Though why my most respectful admiration should be construed——”
“That is enough, Monsieur,” said Mme de Trélan as she might have spoken to a disobedient servant, and walked straight past him out of the grove.
M. Camain, deputy for Maine-et-Loire, did not follow her. After a moment he reseated himself on the stone bench, and, crossing one blue and white striped leg over the other, rubbed his ankle thoughtfully. Then a sort of smile passed over his well-shaven face, he put a finger and thumb into a waistcoat pocket, and drew forth a little almanac, which he consulted. This done, he rose and sauntered towards the lower end of the park, to a certain little door in the outer wall which, to his knowledge, had not been used for years. It had, as he knew, bolts only on the inside, so the absence of a key need not deter him from leaving Mirabel by that way . . . unless indeed long disuse should have rusted those bolts in their sockets, or the ivy have bolted it in another fashion.