"
She spoke in a soft voice. Everything about her expressed
gentleness. She was, indeed, a beautiful woman; somewhat with an
air of indolence, with great eyes seemingly black and blue--amorous
eyes. Was she happy with her crabbed, rheumatic husband? The scene
at which we had once been present did not lead us to believe that
she was; yet there was something in her bearing that was not
suggestive of despair. She disappeared into the kitchen to prepare
our repast, leaving on the table a bottle of excellent cider.
Rouletabille filled our earthenware mugs, loaded his pipe, and
quietly explained to me his reason for asking me to come to the
Glandier with revolvers.
"Yes," he said, contemplatively looking at the clouds of smoke he
was puffing out, "yes, my dear boy, I expect the assassin to-night."
A brief silence followed, which I took care not to interrupt, and
then he went on:
"Last night, just as I was going to bed, Monsieur Robert Darzac
knocked at my room. When he came in he confided to me that he was
compelled to go to Paris the next day, that is, this morning.
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