The girl went back to the drawing-room to stir the fire. Now she was alone, she no longer felt her accustomed courage. Her heart was beating loudly in her breast. She tried to comfort herself and did not succeed.
“Trélaz’s horse goes so slowly. That business at the lawyer’s always lasts so much longer than one thinks it will....”
She could no longer keep down her anxiety, which increased every minute. Even prayer could not calm her. As she was on her knees, she heard the drawing-room door open.
“Is Mamma there?” she cried as she rose from her knees. It was old Marie who appeared at the door.
“No, Miss Paule. It is a man who wants to speak to the mistress.”
“Who is he?”
“He says he is a policeman and has been sent by the Mayor.”
“A policeman! What does he want with us?”
As her mind recalled all the bad omens of that evening, the girl trembled while she gave the order for the man to be shown in. But she controlled herself and received the Mayor’s messenger with the greatest outward calm.
Faroux, the policeman, was one of those silent, stolid countrymen who give themselves up entirely to their work without ever thinking about it. But in the presence of Paule Guibert it was impossible for him not to understand at last the importance of his mission. As he came along the road he had not given a thought to it. So many people approach thus absent-mindedly the most sacred and most serious tasks.