One after another these white-faced applicants leant over the counter.
“Voyons, Monsieur!” they urged; “tell me this or inform me of that.”
But the clerk only smiled and shook his head.
“Patience, Monsieur,” he answered. “I cannot tell you yet. We are awaiting advices from London.”
“But when will you receive them?” inquired several, at once.
“It may be to-morrow. It may not be for several days.”
“But can one see Mr. Turner?” inquired one, more daring than the rest.
“He is engaged.”
Colville caught the eye of the clerk, and by a gesture made it known that he must be allowed to pass on into the inner room. Once more his air of the great world, his good clothes, his flower in the buttonhole, gave him the advantage over others; and the clerk got down from his stool.
“Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence is with him, I know,” whispered Colville. “I come by appointment to meet her here.”