The deep silence which succeeded this remark was broken only by the regular ticking of the clock, and below stairs the clatter of saucepans which the girl was cleaning—too stupid even to listen at the door.
The lawyer went on:
“Did you, in Paris, know a certain M. Maréchal—Léon Maréchal?”
M. and Mme. Roland both exclaimed at once: “I should think so!”
“He was a friend of yours?”
Roland replied: “Our best friend, monsieur, but a fanatic for Paris; never to be got away from the boulevard. He was a head clerk in the exchequer office. I have never seen him since I left the capital, and latterly we had ceased writing to each other. When people are far apart you know——”
The lawyer gravely put in:
“M. Maréchal is deceased.”
Both man and wife responded with the little movement of pained surprise, genuine or false, but always ready, with which such news is received.
Maître Lecanu went on: