Then, turning to a shelf, he took something from it hastily, and kept it in his hand.
Jo roused himself with an effort, and opened to the knocking.
Three people entered: the Seigneur, the Cure, and the Abbe Rossignol, an ascetic, severe man, with a face of intolerance and inflexibility.

Two constables in plain clothes followed; one stolid, one alert, one English and one French, both with grim satisfaction in their faces--the successful exercise of his trade is pleasant to every craftsman.

When they entered, Charley was standing with his back to the fireplace, his eye-glass adjusted, one hand stroking his beard, the other held behind his back.
The Cure came forward and shook hands in an eager friendly way.
"My dear Monsieur," said he, "I hope that you are better." "I am quite well, thank you, Monsieur le Cure," answered Charley.

"I shall get back to work on Monday, I hope." "Yes, yes, that is good," responded the Cure, and seemed confused.
He turned uneasily to the Seigneur.

"You have come to see my friend Portugais," Charley remarked slowly, almost apologetically.