I went after awhile and looked disconsolately out into the court-yard.

The porteress was making her way across the gravelled space, her arms, her hands, the pockets of her black apron full of letters of all sizes.

I remembered that the _facteur_ had followed me down the street.

A noise of voices came confusedly to my ears from between half-opened folding-doors; the thing reminded me of my waiting in de Mersch's rooms.

It did not last so long.
The voices gathered tone, as they do at the end of a colloquy, succeeded each other at longer intervals, and at last came to a sustained halt.
The tall doors moved ajar and she entered, followed by a man whom I recognized as the governor of a province of the day before.