CHAPTER XXXIII FAREWELL TO MISS WALKINSHAW It was under the lash of a natural exasperation I went up Mademoiselle's stairs determined on an interview. Bernard (of all men in the world!) responded to my knock. I could have thrashed him with a cane if the same had been handy, but was bound to content myself with the somewhat barren comfort of affecting that I had never set eyes on him before. He smiled at first, as if not unpleased to see me, but changed his aspect at the unresponse of mine. “I desire to see Miss Walkinshaw,” said I. The rogue blandly intimated that she was not at home. There is more truth in a menial eye than in most others, and this man's fashionable falsehood extended no further than his lips. I saw quite plainly he was acting upon instructions, and, what made it the more uncomfortable for him, he saw that I saw. “Very well, I shall have the pleasure of waiting in the neighbourhood till she returns,” I said, and leaned against the railing. This frightened him somewhat, and he hastened to inform me that he did not know when she might return. “It does not matter,” I said coolly, inwardly pleased to find my courage much higher in the circumstances than I had expected. “If it's midnight she shall find me here, for I have matters of the first importance upon which to consult her.” He was more disturbed than ever, hummed and hawed and hung upon the door-handle, making it very plainly manifest that his instructions had not gone far enough, and that he was unable to make up his mind how he was further to comport himself to a visitor so persistent. Then, unable to get a glance of recognition from me, and resenting further the inconvenience to which I was subjecting him, he rose to an impertinence--the first (to do him justice) I had ever found in him. “Will Monsieur,” said he, “tell me who I shall say called?” The thrust was scarcely novel. I took it smiling, and “My good rogue,” said I, “if the circumstances were more favourable I should have the felicity of giving you an honest drubbing.” He got very red. “Come, Bernard,” I said, adopting another tone, “I think you owe me some consideration. And will you not, in exchange for my readiness to give you all the information you required some time ago for your employers, tell me the truth and admit that Mademoiselle is within?” He was saved an answer by the lady herself. “La! Mr. Greig!” she cried, coming to the door and putting forth a welcoming hand. “My good Bernard has no discrimination, or he should except my dear countryman from my general orders against all visitors.” So much in French; and then, as she led the way to her parlour, “My dear man of Mearns, you are as dour as--as dour as--” “As a donkey,” I finished, seeing she hesitated for a likeness. “And I feel very much like that humble beast at this moment.” “I do not wonder at it,” said she, throwing herself in a chair. “To thrust yourself upon a poor lonely woman in this fashion!”