The blind fell, and there was no more sunlight. I was conscious of a sudden chill. The bare room, with its stone-flagged floor, its plain deal furniture, depressed me no less than the cold, forbidding appearance of the woman who stood now motionless before me. She was paler than any woman whom I had ever seen in my life. A living person, she seemed the personification of lifelessness. Her black hair was streaked with grey; her dress, which suggested a uniform in its severity, knew no adornment save the plain ivory cross which hung from an almost invisible chain about her neck. Her expression indicated neither curiosity nor courtesy. She simply waited. I, although as a rule I had no great difficulty in finding words, felt myself almost embarrassed.
"I have come from London to see you," I said. "My name is Greatson—Arnold Greatson."
There was not a quiver of expression in her cold acknowledgment of my declaration. Nevertheless, at that moment I received an inspiration. I was perfectly sure that she knew who I was and what I had come for.
"I have come to know," I continued, "if you can give me any information as to the friends or parentage of a young lady who was recently, I believe, a pupil of yours—a Miss Isobel de Sorrens?"
"The young lady is still in your charge, I hear," Madame Richard remarked quietly.
Notwithstanding my inspiration I was startled.
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"We despatched a messenger only yesterday to escort Isobel back here," Madame Richard answered. "Your address was the destination given us."
"May I ask who gave it you? At whose instigation you sent?"
"At the instigation of those who have the right to consider themselves Isobel's guardians," Madame Richard said quietly.