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After peering at me a minute or two with her bleared and aged eyes, she shut the wicket in my face with a smart click and disappeared. While I awaited her return I heard the sound of children's laughter and light footsteps running trippingly on the stone passage within. "Fi donc, Rosie!" said the girl's voice in French; "la bonne Mere Marguerite sera tres tres fachee avec toi."
For all her habitual crafty appearance, he felt sure she had no knowledge of this dreadful business. In her way she had a certain loyalty to her mistress which might readily dispose her to regard him as an enemy. "Moi non plus, monsieur," she said with hesitation. "Mais vous savez, hier soir Madame a été tellement fachée contre Monsieur que je croyais..."
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