"P'raps Papa's come," suggested Roger.
Gladys's heart gave a great leap, and she sprang up, glancing in the direction of the little crowd of people. But she quickly crouched down again.
"Oh no," she said. "It can't be that. Françoise would not have told us to stay here. I'm afraid somebody's ill. It seems more like that."
Her instinct was right. By degrees the talking subsided, and one or two of the workpeople went off to their business, and a moment or two after, when Adolphe Nestor suddenly made his appearance, there was a general hush, broken only by one or two voices inquiring "how she was."
"Do you hear that, Roger?" whispered Gladys, nudging her brother; "they're asking how she is. That means Mrs. Nest, I'm sure. She must be ill."
Roger said nothing, but listened solemnly.
"Her was quite well when us went out," he observed, after a considerable pause.
"Yes, but sometimes people get ill all of a sudden," said Gladys. Then, after a moment, "Roger," she said, "I think I'll go and ask. I shall be so unhappy if poor Mrs. Nest is ill."
"So will I," said Roger.