Убийство на поле для гольфа
7. The Mysterious Madame Daubreuil
Sheneverreferstothepast,nortoherhusband.Onedoesnotevenknowifheisaliveordead.Thereisamysteryabouther,youcomprehend.”Inodded,myinterestgrowing.
“And—thedaughter?”Iventured.
“Atrulybeautifulyounggirl—modest,devout,allthatsheshouldbe.Onepitiesher,for,thoughshemayknownothingofthepast,amanwhowantstoaskherhandinmarriagemustnecessarilyinformhimself,andthen—”Thecommissaryshruggedhisshoulderscynically.
“Butitwouldnotbeherfault!”Icried,withrisingindignation.
“No.Butwhatwillyou?Amanisparticularabouthiswife’santecedents.”
Iwaspreventedfromfurtherargumentbyourarrivalatthedoor.M.Hautetrangthebell.Afewminuteselapsed,andthenweheardafootfallwithin,andthedoorwasopened.Onthethresholdstoodmyyounggoddessofthatafternoon.Whenshesawus,thecolourlefthercheeks,leavingherdeathlywhite,andhereyeswidenedwithapprehension.Therewasnodoubtaboutit,shewasafraid!
“MademoiselleDaubreuil,”saidM.Hautet,sweepingoffhishat,“weregretinfinitelytodisturbyou,buttheexigenciesoftheLaw—youcomprehend?MycomplimentstoMadameyourmother,andwillshehavethegoodnesstograntmeafewmoments’interview.”
Foramomentthegirlstoodmotionless.Herlefthandwaspressedtoherside,asthoughtostillthesuddenunconquerableagitationofherheart.Butshemasteredherself,andsaidinalowvoice:
“Iwillgoandsee.Pleasecomeinside.”
Sheenteredaroomontheleftofthehall,andweheardthelowmurmurofhervoice.
