She darted to the good man, shook him by the hand, and said, as if to assure him of his status: "You are the lawyer, aren't you? The notary charged with the execution of the provisions of a will. That's much clearer than you think.... We'll explain it to you.... You are the notary?"
"That is the fact," stammered the gentleman. "I am Maître Delarue, notary at Nantes."
"At Nantes? Excellent; we know where we are. And it's a question of a gold medal, isn't it?... A gold medal which each has received as a summons to the rendezvous?"
"Yes, yes," he said, more and more flustered. "A gold medal—a rendezvous."
"The 12th of July, 1921."
"Yes, yes—1921."
"At noon?"
"At noon."
He made as if to look at his watch. She stopped him:
"You needn't take the trouble, Maître Delarue; we've heard the Angelus. You are punctual at the rendezvous.... We are too.... Everything is in order.... Each has his gold medal.... They're going to show it to you."