The more so that the Wachners would almost certainly return home very soon. They disliked Paris, and never stayed more than a couple of hours on their occasional visits there.
In her careful, rather precise French, she told the servant she would come in and wait.
"I am sure that Madame Wachner would wish me to do so," she said, smiling; and after a rather ungracious pause the woman admitted her into the house, leading the way into the darkened dining-room.
"Do you think it will be long before Madame Wachner comes back?" asked Sylvia.
The woman hesitated—"I cannot tell you that," she mumbled. "They never say when they are going, or when they will be back. They are very odd people!"
She bustled out of the room for a few moments and then came back, holding a big cotton parasol in her hand.
"I do not know if Madame wishes to stay on here by herself? As for me, I must go now, for my work is done. Perhaps when Madame leaves the house she will put the key under the mat."
"Yes, if I leave the house before my friends return home I will certainly do so. But I expect Madame Wachner will be here before long."
Sylvia spoke shortly. She did not like the day-servant's independent, almost rude way of speaking.
"Should the master and mistress come back before Madame has left, will Madame kindly explain that she insisted on coming into the house? I am absolutely forbidden to admit visitors unless Madame Wachner is here to entertain them."
