“Naturally,” returned the lady, tying on her bonnet: “that is their vocation.”
“But hanging is such a dreadful punishment!” And the young woman shivered again.
“Why, my pictures seem to enjoy it,” Mrs. Chevreuse replied, persistently cheerful.
“Now, really, madame—“
“Now, really, mademoiselle,” was the laughing interruption, “what has put your thoughts on such a track this morning? If you want my opinion on the subject, I cannot give it, for I have none. All I can say is that, if I thought any one were destined to kill me, I would instantly write and sign a petition for his pardon, and leave it to be presented to the governor and council at the proper time. Think of something pleasant. I am ready now. We will go out through the house.”
She locked the veranda door, and put the key in her pocket. “I have only to give Jane an order. Jane!” she called, leaning out the window.
A head appeared from the kitchen window beneath, and the mistress gave her order down the outside of the house. “It saves so much going up and down stairs for two old women,” she explained. “Now, my dear.”
They went into the priest’s sitting-room, and again the door was locked behind them, and the key this time hung on a nail over the writing-table. “Wait a moment,” said madame then, and began picking up bits of paper scattered about the room. The priest had torn up a letter, and absently dropped the fragments on the carpet instead of into the waste-basket, and a breeze had been playing with them.
“How provoking men are,” remarked Miss Ferrier, stooping for a fragment which a puff of air instantly caught away from her.
“Are they?” asked Mrs. Chevreuse quietly. “I do not know, I have so little to do with them. Most people are provoking sometimes, I dare say.”