The door of F. Chevreuse's sitting-room was quickly opened, and shut again in Jane's face, and a woman stood inside. It was Annette Gerald, wrapped in a large waterproof cape, with the hood over her head.
“Send Jane away!” she said hurriedly. “Don't let her in here! Don't let her see me!”
Here Jane opened the door and put her head in, eyeing curiously the visitor, whose back was turned to her. “I'm sure I shut the door and bolted it, father,” she began, and took a step into the room. “I....”
“No matter! I'll see to it,” the priest said, waving her away.
“Oh! well, only I'm sure I locked it. And perhaps you'd like to have this lamp....”
“Jane!” he exclaimed, standing up, “when I dismiss you, you are to go.”
Jane retired, grumbling.
“She will listen at the door,” his visitor said.
F. Chevreuse flung the door open, and discovered his domestic lingering about the head of the stairs, affecting to examine an imaginary hole in the carpet.
“Once for all, Jane,” he said, “if you wish to remain in my house, you must not presume, nor show any curiosity about my affairs, nor the affairs of those who come to me. Go down into the kitchen, and shut the door, and stay there.”