“It may be,” interposed Luis, “they are not astir yet: it is early.”
“Early, mon frère? it is ten o’clock!”
“True, it is that hour,” assented Luis, after consulting his watch.
“Besides, where is old Pluto? where Calypse and Chloe? Some of them should be abroad. At least, one of them might have been playing sentinel, I think?”
These were the familiar names of Madame Dardonville’s domestics, all known to myself.
“Ah!” exclaimed Adele, a new thought suggesting itself, “I fancy I can explain. Madame and Olympe are gone up to town, that’s it. Perhaps she knows that the boat is near: she may have heard it from below, and has driven up to the landing to meet us? Of course Pluto would be with her, and the others are busy in the house. That explains all. So we shall meet her at the landing. Well, that will be charming!”
I gave my assent to this explanation, though far from believing it to be the true one. The deserted appearance of the house was a new element of anxiety to me; and, combined with what I already knew, almost confirmed the terrible suspicion that had shaped itself in my imagination. Though straggling to conceal my real thoughts, it was with difficulty I succeeded in doing so. More than once my companions regarded me with inquiring looks: as though they observed a singularity in my bearing and behaviour.
With a sense of the keenest anxiety, I looked forward to the moment of our arrival: I did not indulge in much hope that Adele’s conjecture would prove correct.
Alas! it did not. As the boat was warped in, broadside to the wharf, I scanned the crowd with keen glances: not a group—scarcely an individual—escaped my observation. There were no ladies there—no Madame Dardonville, no Olympe! There were carriages, but not theirs. No private carriages were to be seen, only hackneys waiting for a fare from the boat.
I looked at Adele. There was a slight curl upon her pretty lip—this time really expressive of disappointment and chagrin.