Suddenly, without warning, the all-pervading calm was shattered.
There was the sound of loud knocking on the street door. The violent double-beat of Quality’s heart seemed almost its echo. He started upright, every frayed nerve at utmost stretch; his eyes searching madame’s face as though he would read therein the Riddle of the Sphinx.
There was a rapid, breathless exchange of question and answer.
‘There is some one at the door, madame.’
‘I hear.’
‘Who can it be?’
‘Who knows? Visitors, perhaps.’
‘At this hour! Why do you not open to them?’
‘Why? Marie will doubtless hear.’
In the pause that followed, the knocking again sounded, louder and more peremptory, as though the door were battered by the impact of a mailed fist.