IV
THE SLIPPER IS BESTOWED
I made a swift movement toward the door, intending to rush to the window, no matter who barred the way. I reached for my sword as I did so. Quick as I was, Mademoiselle was quicker. Although her face had gone white at the noise, she had instantly begun to sing—strange action, for which I could then see no excuse. Still lilting lightly a charming little air, she stood between me and the door.
“Not that way!” she whispered in the breaks of the song. “It would be death. In there.”
She pointed toward her bedroom. The knocking was resumed, this time more loudly. A voice cried:
“Countess Gabrielle!”
Her check of me had spoiled my chance. There was nothing but obedience. I slipped into the bedroom and closed the door. The song broke off suddenly. I could hear distinctly all that was said. Mademoiselle raised her voice, crying:
“Who is there?”
“Your grandfather,” was the answer.
“Enter, Monsieur.”
“The door is locked.”