“Ah, most sure.”
“Very well. Keep still. I will see her first. Trust to me.” He turned and left the room.
Charley found the woman in the Notary’s office, which, while partly detached from the house, did duty as sitting-room and library. When Charley entered, the room was only lighted by two candles, and Paulette’s face was hidden by a veil, but Charley observed the tremulousness of the figure and the nervous decision of manner. He had seen her before several times, and he had always noticed the air, half bravado, half shrinking, marking her walk and movements, as though two emotions were fighting in her. She was now dressed in black, save for one bright red ribbon round her throat, incongruous and garish.
When she saw Charley she started, for she had expected the servant with a message from the Notary—her own message had been peremptory.
“I wish to see the Notary,” she said defiantly.
“He is not able to come to you.”
“What of that?”
“Did you expect to go to his bedroom?”
“Why not?” She was abrupt to discourtesy.
“You are neither physician, nor relative.”