“Mademoiselle,” I replied warmly, “I am always entirely at your service, and, I trust, may yet find a way out of your difficulties.”
Something in the simplicity of her manner touched me more than her words, and I went with her to the door and stood there, while she bade Zénaïde farewell, without the heart to hasten her again. Finally, however, M. de Lambert drew her arm through his and led her out into the night, followed by Pierrot and her woman, while we watched in the entry until we heard the horses start, and knew that they were safely off; then I closed the door and barred it.
“And now for a few hours of repose!” I exclaimed with a sigh of relief; but I was destined to disappointment. The words were scarcely out of my mouth before a knock on the front door resounded through the house.
“Hark!” exclaimed Zénaïde, “what can it mean?”
“Some one who is determined to enter,” I remarked dryly, as we ascended the stairs which communicated with my rooms by a rear door, so that we could avoid the entrance. I heard Touchet stumbling through the house, evidently roused from a nap, for he was slow, and there was a second summons before he unbarred the door. Zénaïde followed me to the head of the stairs, and we stood looking down into the lower hall. When the door was opened, several persons immediately crowded into the entrance, and I at once suspected who were our visitors, and in another moment a sharp female voice confirmed my conclusion.
“Where is the marshal, and where is Madame de Brousson?” she exclaimed.
It was Madame Zotof, and she pushed past Touchet and began to come up the stairs before her husband could collect himself for the attack. It was characteristic of madame, who was always at the front of the battle, and she was eager now for the fray. As I saw her on the stair, I glanced at Zénaïde and smiled. Madame de Brousson was looking down at her with a peculiar expression in her blue eyes, and knowing, as I did, her estimate of Madame Zotof, I wondered a little what thoughts were in her mind, as she stood there with unruffled composure awaiting the onslaught. It was not until she was half-way up the stairs that Madame Zotof looked up and saw us standing at the top; then she paused an instant, and eyed us with that keen, ill-tempered look of hers, her thin face and shrewish mouth showing in the glare of the taper that Touchet had set upon the landing.
“I am fortunate to find you awake at this hour,” she remarked sharply.
“And we are fortunate to receive you at any hour, madame,” Zénaïde replied suavely, “even if it is at a time when we usually seek repose.”
Madame Zotof looked at her keenly, suspicious of her opponent’s smooth courtesy.