She started and listened. The thought of Piers sprang instinctively to her mind. Could it be he? But surely even Piers would not come to her at this hour! It must be some parishioner in need of help.
She turned to answer the summons, but ere she reached the hall it was repeated twice, with nervous insistence. She hastened to withdraw the bolts and open the door.
At once a voice accosted her, and a sharp pang of disappointment or anxiety, she knew not which, went through her.
"Mrs. Denys, is she here?" it said. "May I speak with her?"
It was the unmistakable speech of a Frenchman. By the light of the hall-lamp, Avery saw the plump, anxious face and little pointed moustache of the speaker. He entered uninvited and stood before her.
"Ah! But you are Mrs. Denys!" he exclaimed with relief. "Madame, I beg that you will pardon me! I am come to you in distress the most profound. You will listen to me, yes?"
He regarded her with quick black eyes that both confided and besought. Avery's heart was beating in great throbs, she felt strangely breathless and uncertain of herself.
"Where do you come from?" she said. "Who are you?"
But she knew the answer before it came. "I am Victor, madame,—Victor Lagarde. I am the valet of Monsieur Pierre almost since he was born. He calls me his bonne!" A brief smile touched his worried countenance and was gone. "And now I am come to you, madame,—not by his desire. Mais non, he does not know even that I am here. But because he is in great, great misery, and I cannot console him. I have not the power. And he is all alone—all alone. And I fear—I fear—" He broke off with eloquent hands outspread. Avery saw the tears standing in his eyes.
She closed the door softly. "What is it?" she said. "Tell me what you fear!"