For some little time there had been a noise of footsteps and a subdued murmur of voices in the vestibule. Annoyed by this interruption, although he perfectly understood its cause, the magistrate rose and hastily opened the door. He was not mistaken. His clerk had returned from lunch, and the time of waiting seemed extremely long to him. “Ah! it’s you,” said the magistrate. “Very well! begin your inventory. It won’t be long before I join you.” And closing the door he resumed his seat again. Mademoiselle Marguerite was so absorbed in her narrative that she scarcely noticed this incident, and he had not seated himself before she resumed. “In all my life, I had never seen such an imposing looking person as the Count de Chalusse. His manner, attire, and features could not fail to inspire a child like me with fear and respect. I was so awed that I had scarcely enough presence of mind to bow to him. He glanced at me coldly, and exclaimed: ‘Ah! is this the young girl you were speaking of?’ The count’s tone betrayed such disagreeable surprise that the superior was dismayed. She looked at me, and seemed indignant at my more than modest attire. ‘It’s a shame to allow a child to leave home dressed in this fashion,’ she angrily exclaimed. And she almost tore my huge apron off me, and then with her own hands began to arrange my hair as if to display me to better advantage. ‘Ah! these employers,’ she exclaimed, ‘the best of them are bad. How they do deceive you. It’s impossible to place any confidence in their promises. Still, one can’t always be at their heels.’