with a sigh, his gay gesticulation
having quite left him, "I hope I have done no mischief. It was all for
the little Natalushka. It will be so much better for you and for her to
be on good terms with Ferdinand Lind."

"We will see," Brand said, lightly. "The people in this part of the
world generally do as they're done by."

CHAPTER XIX.

AT THE CULTURVEREIN.

On calm reflection, Calabressa gave himself the benefit of his own
approval; and, on the whole, was rather proud of his diplomacy. He had
revealed enough, and not too much; he had given the headstrong
Englishman prudent warnings and judicious counsel; he had done what he
could for the future of the little Natalushka, who was the daughter of
Natalie Berezolyi. But there was something more.

He went up-stairs.

"My dear little one," he said, in his queer French, "behold me--I come
alone. Your English friend sends a thousand apologies--he has to return
to his guests: is it an English custom to leave guests in such a manner?
Ah, Madame Potecki, there is a time in one's life when one does strange
things, is there not? When a farewell before strangers is
hateful--impossible; when you rather go away silently than come before
strangers and shake hands, and all the rest. What, wicked little one,
you look alarmed! Is it a secret, then? Does not madame guess anything?"

"I entreat you, Signor Calabressa, not to speak in riddles," said
Natalie, hastily. "See, here is a telegram from papa. He will be back in
London on Monday next week. You can stay to see him, can you not?"'

"Mademoiselle, do you not understand that I am not my own master for two
moments in succession? For this present moment I am; the next I may be
under orders. But if my freedom, my holiday, lasts--yes, I shall be glad
to see your father, and I will wait. In the mean time, I must use up my
present moment. Can you give me the address of Vincent Beratinsky?"

She wrote it down for him; it was a number in Oxford Street.

"Now I will add my excuses to those of the tall Englishman," said he,
rising. "Good-night, madame. Good-night, mademoiselle--truly, it is a
folly to call you the little Natalushka, who are taller than your
beautiful mother. But it was the little Natalushka I was thinking about
for many a year. Good-night, wicked little one, with your secrets!"

He kissed her hand, bowed once more to the little Polish lady, and left.

When, after considerable difficulty--for he was exceedin