Part 60 (2/2)

Presently the mother, who seemed to be much amused with something or other, said in French,

”Ah, my friend, I did not think my child would be so deceitful. I did not think she would deceive you.”

The girl stared with wide eyes.

”She pretended to tell you what this poor man said to her,” said the mother, with a quiet smile. ”She forgot that some one else than herself might know Russian.”

Natalie flushed red.

”Mother!” she remonstrated. ”I said he had spoken a lot of foolish things.”

”After all,” said the mother, ”he said no more than what Calabressa says in the letter. You have been kind to him; he regards you as an angel; he will give you his life; you, or any one whom you love. The poor man! Did you see how he trembled?”

Natalie turned to George Brand.

”He said something more than that,” said she. ”He said he had undertaken some duty, some service, that was expected to have cost him his life. He did not know what it was: do you?”

”I do not,” said he, answering frankly the honest look of her eyes. ”I can scarcely believe any one was foolish enough to think of intrusting any serious duty to a man like that. But still Calabressa hints as much; and I know he left England with Calabressa.”

”Natalushka,” the mother said, cautiously, and yet with an anxious scrutiny, ”I have often wondered--whether you knew much--much about the Society.”

”Oh no, mother! I am allowed to translate, and sometimes I hear that help is to be given here or there; but I am in no secrets at all. That is my misfortune.”

The mother seemed much relieved.

”It is not a misfortune, child. You are happier as you are, I think.

Then,” she added, with a quick glance, ”you have never heard of one--Bartolotti?”

”No,” she answered; but directly afterwards she exclaimed, ”Oh yes, yes!

Bartolotti, that is the name Calabressa gave me. He said if ever I was in very serious trouble, I was to go to Naples; and that was the pa.s.sword. But I thought to myself, 'If I am in trouble, why should I not go to my own father?'”

The mother rose and went to the girl, and put her arm round her daughter's neck, and stooped down.

”Natalushka,” said she, earnestly, ”you are wiser than Calabressa. If you are in trouble, do not seek any help that way. Go to your father.”

”And to you, mother,” said she, drawing down the worn, beautiful face and kissing it. ”Why not to you also? Why not to you both?”

The mother smiled, and patted the girl's head, and then returned to the other side of the table. Waters brought in some fruit, fresh from Covent Garden.

He also brought in a letter, which he put beside his master's plate.

Brand did not even look at it; he pushed it aside, to give him more room. But in pus.h.i.+ng it aside he turned it somewhat and Natalie's eye happening to fall on the address, she perceived at once that it was in the handwriting of her father.

”Dearest,” said she, in a low voice, and rather breathlessly, ”the letter is from papa.”

”From your father?” said he, without any great concern. Then he turned to Natalie's mother. ”Will you excuse me? My friends are determined to remind me of their existence to-day.”

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