“I am. Don’t you think so, Ephraim?”
Quixtus bowed his head.
“I sent him my love,” he murmured.
“And now,” said the Sister of Charity, “we must make the toilette du mort. Will you have the kindness to retire?”
She smiled sadly and opened the door.
“There is a packet in the drawer for this lady and gentleman,” said Poynter, who had stood waiting for them in the corridor.
“Ah! bon,” said the Sister. She crossed the room and returned with the packet, which she handed to Clementina. It was sealed and addressed to them jointly. “To Ephraim Quixtus and Clementina Wing. To be opened after my death.” Clementina stuffed it in the pocket of her skirt.
“We’ll open it together by-and-by. Now we’d better go to our rooms and tidy up and have some food. Only a fool goes through such a day as is before us on an empty stomach. What’s your number? I’ll tell them to send you up some coffee and rolls.”
He thanked her dreamily. She arranged a meeting at noon in order to go through the packet. They walked along the corridor, Poynter accompanying them. He proposed, it being convenient to them, to take the night train to Paris and home. In the meanwhile his services were at their disposal.
“I wish I could pack you off to Piccadilly by Hertzian wave, right away,” said Clementina.