“What’s coming next?” he asked.
“Cottage pie.”
“Not one of my favourite dishes.”
“Be thankful you have anything to eat at all,” his mother answered sharply.
He shrugged his shoulders and gave Lydia a gay wink.
Madame Berger went into the kitchen to fetch the cottage pie.
“The old woman doesn’t seem in a very good humour to-night.
What’s she been doing with herself?”
“It was the generale’s last day of the season.
She went there.”
“The old bore! That’s enough to put anyone out of temper.”
Madame Berger brought in the dish and served it.
Robert helped himself to some wine and water.
He went on talking of one thing and another, in his usual ironical and rather amusing way, but at last he could ignore no longer the taciturnity of his companions.
“But what is the matter with you both to-night?” he interrupted himself angrily.
“You sit there as glum as two mutes at a funeral.”
His mother, forcing herself to eat, had been sitting with her eyes glued to her plate, but now she raised them and, silently, looked him full in the face.
“Well, what is it?” he cried flippantly.
She did not answer, but continued to stare at him.
Lydia gave her a glance.
In those dark eyes, as full of expression as Robert’s, she read reproach, fear, anger, but also an unhappiness so poignant that it was intolerable.
Robert could not withstand the intensity of that anguished gaze and dropped his eyes.
They finished the meal in silence.
Robert lit a cigarette and gave one to Lydia.
She went into the kitchen to fetch the coffee.
They drank it in silence.
There was a ring at the door.
Madame Berger gave a little cry.
They all sat still as though they were paralysed.
The ring was repeated.
“Who is that?” whispered Madame Berger.
“I’ll go and see,” said Robert.
Then, with a hard look on his face: “Pull yourself together, mother.
There’s nothing to get upset about.”
He went to the front door.
They heard strange voices, but he had closed the parlour door after him and they could not distinguish what was said.
In a minute or two he came back.
Two men followed him into the room.
“Will you both go into the kitchen,” he said.
“These gentlemen wish to talk to me.”
“What do they want?”
“That is precisely what they are going to tell me,” Robert answered coolly.
The two women got up and went out.
Lydia stole a glance at him.
He seemed perfectly self-possessed.
It was impossible not to guess that the two strangers were detectives.
Madame Berger left the kitchen door open, hoping she would be able to hear what was being said, but across the passage, through a closed door, the words spoken were inaudible.
The conversation went on for the best part of an hour, then the door was opened.
“Lydia, go and fetch me my coat and my shoes,” cried Robert.
“These gentlemen want me to accompany them.”