"What is it?" she cried. "What are you doing?"
Madame explained, and the two stood hand in hand while I made ready to burst in upon the mystery that lay behind that closed door.
I took a run, and brought my shoulder to bear just above the lock, wrenching the four screws out of the wood by the force of the blow. I staggered into the dark passage beyond, with a sore shoulder and my heart in my mouth. Madame and Lucille followed. I tried the handle of the door leading from the passage to the Vicomte's study. The key had not been turned.
"I will go in alone," I said, laying a hand on Madame's arm, who gave me a candle and made no attempt to follow me.
MADAME EXPLAINED, AND THE TWO STOOD HAND IN HAND WHILE I MADE READY TO BURST IN UPON THE MYSTERY THAT LAY BEHIND THAT CLOSED DOOR.
After all, the precaution was unnecessary, for the room was empty.
"You may come," I said; and the ladies stood in the dimly lighted chamber. None of us had entered there since the Baron Giraud had come to occupy it in his coffin. The dust was thick on the writing-table. Some flowers, broken from the complimentary wreaths, lay on the floor. The air was heavy. I kicked the withered lilies towards the fireplace, and looked carefully round the room. The furniture was all in order. Madame went to the window and threw it open. A river steamer, moving cautiously in the dawning light, cast its booming note over the housetops towards us. The frog in the fountain—a family friend—was croaking comfortably in the courtyard below us.
"Lucille, my child," said Madame, quietly, "go back to bed. Your father is not in the house. It will explain itself to-morrow."