And at last a faint sound, the light tread of little feet, was heard amidst the silence. Then a weak, childish voice ventured to inquire: “Who is there?”
“Monsieur l’Abbe.”
The silence fell again, nothing more stirred. There was evidently hesitation on the other side.
“Monsieur l’Abbe who came the other day,” said Pierre again.
This evidently put an end to all uncertainty, for the door was set ajar and little Celine admitted the priest. “I beg your pardon, Monsieur l’Abbe,” said she, “but Mamma Theodore has gone out, and she told me not to open the door to anyone.”
Pierre had, for a moment, imagined that Salvat himself was hiding there. But with a glance he took in the whole of the small bare room, where man, woman and child dwelt together. At the same time, Madame Theodore doubtless feared a visit from the police. Had she seen Salvat since the crime? Did she know where he was hiding? Had he come back there to embrace and tranquillise them both?
“And your papa, my dear,” said Pierre to Celine, “isn’t he here either?”
“Oh! no, monsieur, he has gone away.”
“What, gone away?”
“Yes, he hasn’t been home to sleep, and we don’t know where he is.”