Provoked as I was with Phil, I couldn't help hoping that his bonnet was straight, and that he had on his shawl, for his figure wasn't as good as mine. I heard a strange voice—Mr. Erveng's—say: "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting so long, but I am extremely busy. Will you be kind enough to state your business as briefly as possible?"
Then Phil began, imitating an old lady's voice to a nicety: "Having heard that you publish a great many books, I thought you would like to know of a very clever—really remarkable—work which is being written by a well-known scholar who lives in this street, and that perhaps you would call on him and make him an offer for it." I knew the moment I heard this speech that Felix had made it up, and just coached Phil; it was certainly better than what I had thought of.
The portières behind which I had hid only covered a door, and, though I squeezed up as tight as I could, I was awfully afraid they would part and show me underneath. But, all the same, I couldn't resist peeping to see what was going on. Phil had his back to me, but Mr. Erveng sat facing me in the swing-chair that was by his desk, and I noticed at once that he was the black-bearded man we'd seen the day the family moved in.
I listened eagerly for Mr. Erveng's answer. He said very coolly: "It is not our custom to make an offer for a work of which we know nothing. Manuscripts are generally submitted to us. What is the title of this 'remarkable work'?"
I didn't like the way he said this, and I thought he looked very suspiciously at Phil; but Phil didn't seem to notice it, for he answered eagerly: "It's called the Fe—'History of Some Ancient Peoples,' and I've brought you a chapter or two to look at." Here I heard a rustling, and peeping between the portières, what should I see but Phil handing Mr. Erveng some pages of the Fetich!
I was so perfectly amazed that I had to stuff the portière into my mouth to keep from calling out; how had Phil ever got hold of those chapters without papa's knowledge? I knew Nannie would never have helped him after what she had said on Sunday to Max, and how had Phil dared to bring them here! What would papa say if he should know what he had done,—indeed, what we had both done! Oh, how sorry I was that I hadn't gone when Phil urged me to.
When I got over my surprise a little, and again looked through the portières, Mr. Erveng stood holding the Fetich in his hands, and looking over the pages with a frown on his face. "This is curious," I heard him say. And then, suddenly, before I could guess what he was going to do, he crossed the room and drew my portières aside! At first I held on to them, with a desperate desire to lose myself in the scanty folds; but they were firmly withdrawn, and there I stood,—a fac-simile of the fat, black-robed, black-veiled person who sat on the three-cornered chair by Mr. Erveng's desk!
"Whew!" whistled Phil, then tried to look as if he hadn't uttered a sound, while Mr. Erveng took hold of my arm and walked me over to where Phil stood. "Now," he said sternly, "I should like an explanation of this extraordinary behaviour."
But not a word said either of us,—I couldn't, I was so frightened; I assure you I wished myself home! And while we stood there—Mr. Erveng waiting for an answer—the door opened, and the boy that Max had said was Hilliard Erveng came into the room.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," he exclaimed, turning back, "I didn't know any one was with you."