Out went Mademoiselle Adèle, and her slippered footsteps faded up the staircase. There was a sound of knocking, a conversation inaudible to the two who strained their ears to listen, and then mademoiselle was back again.
Madame was malade—bien malade—would beg Monsieur le Médecin to excuse her.
‘Then I will try,’ said Laurent ‘I have your authority?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Paul, and the doctor went creaking up the stairs in his heavy, country-made boots.
Paul sat alone again and listened with his heart in his ears.
A series of raps sounded upon the door above, at first quiet and persuasive, and then increasing in intensity. There came a faint sound of protesting inquiry, and in answer:
‘Dr. Laurent, s’il vous plait, madame.’
There was another protest, and Laurent spoke again:
‘But I am here by appointment, madame, and I cannot afford to waste my time.’
And just here a curious and rather embarrassing thing happened, for the doctor, laying a nervous hand upon the door, found it suddenly opened to him with no symptom of resistance.