"Madame can hear it herself. Listen!" We could not see it, but we were conscious of the benign, toothless smile spreading over his face as the bell-tones fell in the room.
"But it is not the gas. I—"
"Pardon, madame; but it is the gas. Madame said, 'Jules, put out the gas every night when the bell rings.' Madame told me that only last night. The bell rings: I put out the gas."
"Will you be silent? Will you listen?"
"If madame wishes; just as madame says."
But the old lady had turned to Mr. Horace. "Horace, you have seen—you know—" and it was a question now of overcoming emotion. "I—I—I—a carriage, my friend, a carriage."
"Madame—" Jules interrupted his smile to interrupt her.
She was walking around the room, picking up a shawl here, a lace there; for she was always prepared against draughts.
"Madame—" continued Jules, pursuing her.
"A carriage."