Leaving Louise at breakfast on this Tuesday morning Madame Cerise went down to the telephone and was soon in communication with Arthur.  She told him, in a quiet tone, that Miss Louise Merrick was being secluded in a suburban house near East Orange, and described the place so he could easily find it.  The young man questioned her eagerly, but aside from the information that the girl was well and uninjured she vouchsafed no further comment.

It was enough, however.  Arthur, in wild excitement, rushed to the rescue.

CHAPTER XXI

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS

Madame Cerise, well knowing she had accelerated the march of events to a two-step, calmly sat herself down in the little housekeeper’s room off the lower hall and, leaving Louise to her moody solitude upstairs, awaited the inevitable developments.

Outside the weather was cold and blustering.  The wind whirled its burden of snowflakes in every direction with blinding, bewildering impartiality.  It was a bad day to be out, thought the old Frenchwoman; but a snowstorm was not likely to deter an anxious lover.  She calculated the time it would take Monsieur Weldon to arrive at the mansion:  if he was prompt and energetic he could cover the distance in an hour and a half by train or three hours by motor car.  But he must prepare for the journey, and that would consume some time; perhaps she need not expect him within two hours at the earliest.

She read, to pass away the time, selecting a book from a shelf of well-worn French novels.  Somehow she did not care to face her tearful prisoner again until she could restore the unhappy girl to the arms of her true lover.  There was still romance in the soul of Madame Cerise, however withered her cheeks might be.  She was very glad that at last she had summoned courage to act according to the dictates of her heart.

Eh?  What is this?  A rumble of wheels over the frozen snow caused her to glance at the clock above the mantel.  Not by any possibility could Monsieur Weldon arrive so soon.  Who, then, could it be?

She sat motionless while the doorbell rang, and rang again.  Nothing must interfere with the pretty denouement she had so fondly anticipated when Louise’s faithful knight came to her.

But the one who had just now alighted was persistent.  The vehicle had been sent away—­she heard the sound of receding wheels—­and the new arrival wanted to get in.  The bell jerked and jangled unceasingly for a time and then came a crash against the door, as if a stalwart shoulder was endeavoring to break it down.

Madame Cerise laid down her book, placed her pince-nez in the case, and slowly proceeded down the hall.  The door shook with another powerful impact, a voice cried out demanding admittance.

“Who is it, then?” she called shrilly.

“Open the door, confound you!” was the irritated reply.