Sunset came—and still neither Siadoux nor the priest appeared. The little party sat waiting round the table, and waited in vain. Before long, a message was sent up from the kitchen, representing that the supper must be eaten forthwith, or be spoilt; and the company began to debate the two alternatives, of waiting, or not waiting, any longer.
"It is my belief," said the widow Mirailhe, "that my brother is not coming home to-night. When Monsieur Chaubard joins us, we had better sit down to supper."
"Can any accident have happened to my father?" asked one of the two daughters, anxiously.
"God forbid!" said the widow.
"God forbid!" repeated the two neighbours, looking expectantly at the empty supper-table.
"It has been a wretched day for travelling," said Louis, the eldest son.
"It rained in torrents, all yesterday," added Thomas, the second son.
"And your father's rheumatism makes him averse to travelling in wet weather," suggested the widow, thoughtfully.
"Very true!" said the first of the two neighbours, shaking his head piteously at his passive knife and fork.
Another message came up from the kitchen, and peremptorily forbade the company to wait any longer.