"You wish to see Madame Holymead?" she said to Rolfe. Her manner was
engagingly pleasant and French.
Rolfe felt it incumbent upon him to be gallant in the presence of the
fair representative of a nation whom he vaguely understood placed
gallantry in the forefront of the virtues. He took off his hat with a
courtly bow.
"I do, mademoiselle," he replied, "and my business is important."
"Then, monsieur, step inside if you will be so good, and I will see you."
She led Rolfe to a small, prettily-furnished room at the end of the hall,
and carefully shut the door. Then she invited Rolfe to be seated, and
asked him to state his business.
But this was precisely what Rolfe was not anxious to do except to Mrs.
Holymead herself.
"My business is private, and must be placed before Mrs. Holymead," he
said firmly. "I wish to see her."
"I regret, monsieur, but Madame Holymead is out of town. She went last
week. If you had only come before she went"--Mademoiselle Chiron looked
genuinely sorry.
Rolfe was a little taken aback at this intelligence, and showed it.
"Out of town!" he repeated. "Where has she gone to?"
She looked at him almost timidly.
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