"I wish to see
Mr. Erveng on business," I said, disguising my voice as well as I could.
Then, as he murmured something about "card,"--I had entirely forgotten
that,--I pushed my way past him, saying, "It is something _very_
important, that I _know_ your master will be glad to hear."
This seemed to satisfy him, and he ushered me into a room which looked
to be half drawing-room, half study: there were in it a sofa, some fancy
chairs, a set of well-filled Eastlake book-shelves, and a desk almost as
big as papa's. Portieres hung at the end of the room. I took a seat
near one of the long windows opening on the balcony, and began to
arrange in my mind what I would say to Mr. Erveng, when suddenly,
glancing toward the gate, I saw some one open it and come slowly up the
walk,--a stout, elderly female, dressed in a black gown, a black shawl,
and a bonnet and veil, _precisely_ like the ones I had on! Her veil was
drawn closely over her face, she wore black woollen gloves, and held in
one hand a black reticule--which I would have declared was nurse's--and
in the other a clumsily folded umbrella. As I sat and stared at the
advancing figure, I wondered if I were dreaming, and actually gave
myself a pinch to assure myself I was awake.
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