Juggernaut

								

mixture of periods, with heavy olive-green curtains at the windows
shutting out most of the light, and pale cotton brocade on the modern
Louis Seize chairs.  A plaster bust of Voltaire on the mantel-piece was
flanked by Louis Philippe candlesticks, the whole reflected in a
gilt-framed mirror extending to the ceiling.  Across the middle of the
room stretched a reproduction Louis Quinze table with ormolu mounts,
and on it were stacked regular piles of magazines, French and English.
Everything was in meticulous order.  The parquet shone with a glassy
finish.  From the corner a tall clock ticked loudly, deliberately.  The
house was very still.
Suddenly Esther felt uncomfortable, oppressed.  Yet why?  There was no
reason to dread the coming interview.  Indeed, she could think of no
plausible explanation for the absurd panic which overtook her in a
flash.  Why, for a single instant she had half a mind to bolt out of
the house before the doctor appeared.  What utter nonsense!  How
ashamed she would have been!  To steady herself she picked up the
folded copy of the morning paper facing her and opening it re-read the
advertisement that had brought her here.  It was plain and to the point:
"Dr. Gregory Sartorius of 86, Route de Grasse, wishes to find a
well-educated young Englishwoman, trained nurse preferred, to assist
him in his work.  Good references essential.  Applicants may call
between two and four."
It sounded just the thing.  Suitable jobs were not plentiful in Cannes,
her three-day search had been sufficient to convince her of that fact.
She hoped she would land this one; if not, it would probably mean New
York again, and the blizzard.  She hated to be beaten.
A shadow darkened the glass doors.  She sprang to her feet, slightly
disconcerted to feel that the doctor had been silently inspecting her
from without, perhaps for several seconds.  Again she was impatient
with herself for the odd suggestion of alarm which came upon her.  She
was not usually nervous like this.
What an immense man he was!  That was her first thought as he paused
for an instant in the doorway, scrutinising her.  Big and rather
clumsily built, with awkward, slow movements.  He had a student's
stoop, and his skin was brownish and dull, his whole heavy person
suggesting the sedentary worker.  His low forehead, receding into a
bald head, was oddly flattish in shape.  It reminded Esther of
something--she couldn't think what.  He stood with his head slightly
lowered and regarded her deliberately, appraisingly, before he uttered
a word.  She could hear his breathing.
"Good afternoon, Miss..."
He stopped inquiringly.
"My name is Rowe.  I've come about the advertisement, doctor."
He approached slowly, showing a sort of lethargic reluctance towards
effort which extended even to the muscles of his almost expressionless
face.  To some he might have appeared dull and stupid, but Esther knew
this was not true.  There was life in the flicker of his small eyes,