Finally, he informed me that Madame Pierson
was ill and that she had sent word to me by him that she would not be
able to see me that day.
"Is she ill? Why, I left her late yesterday afternoon and she was very
well at that time!"
He bowed.
"But," I continued, "if she is ill, why send word to me by a third party?
She does not live so far away that a useless call would harm me."
The same response from Mercanson. I could not understand what this
peculiar manner signified, much less why she had entrusted her mission to
him.
"Very well," I said, "I shall see her to-morrow and she will explain what
this means."
His hesitation continued.
"Madame Pierson has also told me--that I should inform you--in fact, I am
requested to--"
"Well, what is it?" I cried, impatiently.
"Sir, you are becoming violent, I think Madame Pierson is seriously ill;
she will not be able to see you this week."
Another bow, and he retired.
It was clear that his visit concealed some mystery: either Madame Pierson
did not wish to see me, and I could not explain why, _or_ Mercanson had
interfered on his own responsibility.
I waited until the following day and then presented myself at her door;
the servant who met me said that her mistress was indeed very ill and
could not see me; she refused to accept the money I offered her, and
would not answer my questions.
As I was passing through the village on my return, I saw Mercanson; he
was surrounded by a number of school children, his uncle's pupils.
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