As Céline Leroque opened the door and disappeared one might have fancied, had they been gazing at that not-very-interesting object, that the high-backed chair moved ever so little.
Céline flew along the hall and down the stairway, tearing viciously at something as she went. Once in the open air, the brisk autumn breezes caught something from her hand, and sent little fragments whirling through space—paper scraps, that might have been dissected particles of a bank note.
Cora listened in some surprise to the messenger, who broke in upon her meditations with a trifle less of suavity than was usual in Miss Arthur's maid.
"A gentleman, to see me! Are you quite sure, Céline?"
Mrs. Arthur, for various reasons, received but few friends, and Céline thought now that she looked a trifle annoyed.
"Well, Céline, where is the gentleman? Stop," as if struck by a sudden thought, and changing color slightly, "tell him I am out, but not until I have got up-stairs," she said; "not until I have had an opportunity to see him, myself unseen," she thought.
"But, madame," hesitated Céline, "he is in the little parlor. He saw madame at the upper end of the terrace."
"Confusion! What did he say, girl?" excitedly.
"He said, madame, that he wished to speak with you; that he was an old friend."
"Well, go along," sharply. "I will see the man."