The Frontier by Maurice LeBlanc

Suzanne Jorance pushed the swing-gate and entered the grounds of the Old Mill.

She was dressed in white and her face looked fresh and cool under a large hat of Leghorn straw, with its black-velvet strings hanging loose upon her shoulders. Her short skirt showed her dainty ankles. She walked with a brisk step, using a tall, iron-shod stick, while her disengaged hand crumpled some flowers which she had gathered on the way and which she dropped heedlessly as she went.

The Morestals' peaceful house was waking in the morning sun. Several of the windows were open; and Suzanne saw Marthe writing at the table in her bedroom.

She called out:

"Can I come up?"

But Mme. Morestal appeared at one of the windows of the drawing-room and made an imperious sign to her:

"Hush! Don't speak!"

"What's the matter? " asked Suzanne, when she joined the old lady.

"They're asleep."

"Who?"

"Why, the father and son."

"Oh! " said Suzanne. "Philippe too? ."

"Yes, they must have come in late and they are resting. Neither of them has rung his bell yet. But tell me, Suzanne, aren't you going away?"

"To-morrow. or the next day. I confess, I'm in no hurry to go."

Mme. Morestal took her to her daughter-in-law's room and asked:

"Philippe's still asleep, isn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Marthe. "I haven't heard him move."

"Nor I Morestal. And yet he's an early riser, as a rule. And Philippe, who wanted to go tramping at daybreak! . However, so much the better, sleep suits both of my men. By the way, Marthe, didn't the shooting wake you in the night?"

"The shooting!"

"Oh, of course, your room is on the other side. The sound came from the frontier. Some poacher, I suppose."