The woman in charge of the shop grew impatient too, and they both watched the clock until five, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, twenty minutes had passed.
Then Mademoiselle Laure suddenly appeared at the side-door, on the opposite side of the street, which led to the showrooms. She ran across the road, and beckoned excitedly to Audrey.
She was laughing.
Audrey trembled and could scarcely stand as Mademoiselle Laure took her by the arm and, without a word of explanation, beyond saying that the doctor was there, led the trembling woman back and up the stairs.
“Don’t take me in again, don’t, don’t,” whispered Audrey, whose nerve had given way completely under the long and terrible strain.
“But you must come, you must. Don’t you want to see the doctor?” said Mademoiselle Laure, whose voice and manner was as derisive as ever.
Audrey let herself be led, reluctant indeed, but submissive as a child, up the stairs and into the first of the two big, handsomely furnished showrooms.
The doctor, an elderly man of strictly professional aspect, who wore gold spectacles and spoke in a quiet and authoritative manner, bowed to her with a keen but kindly look.
At once he offered her a chair, and making a sign to Mademoiselle Laure to draw back the muslin curtain that veiled the nearest of the electric lights, he took Audrey by the wrist.
She drew a breath of amazement. Evidently he looked upon her as a patient.