"They are not mine," answered Harold, hastily.
"I don't know anything about that. They are the ones you had in your hand when you opened the drawer. I think this is the key you used."
"The keys belong to you!" asserted Harold, desperately.
"Thank you for giving them to me, but I shall have no use for them," said Felicie, coolly. "And now, Master Harold, do you want to know why I have told you this little story?"
"Yes," answered Harold, feebly.
"Because I think it will be for our mutual advantage to come to an understanding. I don't want to inform your aunt of what I have seen unless you compel me to do so."
"How should I compel you to do so?" stammered Harold, uneasily.
"Step into the parlor, where we can talk comfortably. Your aunt is upstairs, and your mother is out, so that no one will hear us."
Harold felt that he was in the power of the cunning Felicie, and he followed her unresistingly.
"Sit down on the sofa, and we will talk at our ease. I will keep silent about this matter, and no one else knows a word about it, if——"