"What are you doing there, at this time of night?" I asked her. "I have just heard the gate of the Impasse being shut. Has some one gone out, then? And why is your door wide open? What is happening?..."
"Nothing, Madame, I opened the door to have more air.... I don't feel well.... All these stories, these new investigations.... I don't like them. Everything will go wrong. Couillard will perhaps give us no end of trouble. Who knows!... He will perhaps accuse me or my son.... Ah! I can swear to you that if they touch my son... you know me.... I shan't be afraid of any one!"
She had a terrifying appearance, the old Mariette, with her eyes that flashed angrily, her threatening jaw, and her big clenched fists. She rose, came close to me, and said: "Well, and what about you? Why aren't you in bed at this time?"
I was afraid, but summoning what little strength was left in me, I said: "Because I have been awake...."
"Since when?"
"For over two hours; since eleven o'clock.... Why do you look so frightened?"
Mariette came still closer to me, until her face almost touched mine. I had not even hinted that I had seen her and her son, and yet she said suspiciously and threateningly: "Well, and then?..."
"And then... Mariette? It is for you to explain to me what you did with your son in the attic, in the studio, and then in the cellar.... Answer me."
She stared at me, hesitated, and then replied: "What did I do in the attic?... That's no business of yours. I am free to do as I please. There are things of mine in the attic. If I like, I can give things to my son to take with him, can't I?"
"No, Mariette, your son has taken nothing with him. He carried no parcel when I saw him go... or else, what he took must have been very small."