"Perfectly," said my father. "I shall dispose of it in my own way. I am merely waiting for the time."
"Huh!"
Brutus cupped his great hand behind his ear, and nodded violently. My father stepped toward the hallway, and listened. Above the hissing of the fire I heard a voice and footsteps. He straightened the lace about his wrists, and his features lost their strained attention. As he turned towards Brutus, he seemed younger and more alertly active than I had ever known him.
"Ah, what a day," he said, "what a day, to be sure. They are coming,
Brutus. Gad, but the years have been long since I have waited for them!
Place the glasses on the table, Brutus. We still must be hospitable."
The knocker on our front door sent a violent summons, but my father did not seem to hear it. With graceful deliberation he was filling six glasses from the decanter.
"Keep to the back of the room, my son," he said, "and listen. Who do you think is coming? But you never can guess. Our neighbors, my son, our neighbors. First your uncle, and then our neighbors. We are holding a distinguished salon, are we not?"
But before I could answer or even conjecture why he should receive such a visit, my father gave a low exclamation, partly of surprise, and partly of well concealed annoyance, and stepped forward, bowing low. Mademoiselle, bright-eyed, but very pale, had run into the morning room.
"The paper, captain," she cried, "are they coming for the paper? For, if they are, they shall not have it. You—"
My father looked at her sharply, almost suspiciously.
"How are you here?" he demanded quickly, "Did not Brutus lock your door?"