She was crying softly as she told me. Mademoiselle Rose—Madame Holt, she
should say--had rushed in “toute émotionnée.” She could not wait for me.
She had come in a car. She had written the note and was gone again.
Did Suzanne know what the note was about?
Ah, yes. Quel dommage! But la vie cannot be kept within fixed bounds.
Pots boil over. All this in her hard Norman speech. She was fatalistic,
but still she wiped her eyes.
Monsieur would not think less of Madame Holt because of this, would he?