The Winding Stair by A.E.W. Mason

The longer the silence grew, the more difficult Gerard de Montignac felt it was to break. He had entered the room, clothed upon with authority, sensible of it and prepared to demand explanations and exact retribution. But he had now a curious uneasiness. His authority seemed to be slipping from him. Opposite to him without a movement of his body and his face still as a mask, stood _le grand serieux_, as half in jest, half in earnest, he used to label Paul Ravenel. He had not a doubt of his identity. But _le grand serieux_ was altogether in earnest _le grand serieux_ at this moment.

A quiet, tragic figure, drawn to his full height, wearing his dignity with the ease of an accustomed garment, when he should be-what? Crushed under shame, faltering excuses, cringing! Gerard de Montignac said to himself: "Why, I might be the culprit! It might be for me to offer an explanation, or to try to." He almost wondered if he was the culprit, so complete was his discomfort, and so utterly he felt himself at a disadvantage. He whipped himself to a sneer.