s. They
are too arrogant; they want everything under their direction. Take their
money, but keep them outside: that would have been my rule."

"And this Englishman," said Beratinsky, with a smile, though there was
the light of malice in his eye, "this Englishman is not content with
wanting to have the mastery of poor devils like you and me; he also
wishes to marry the beautiful Natalie--the beautiful Natalie, who has
hitherto been as proud as the Princess Brunhilda. Now, now, friend
Calabressa, do not protest. Every one has ears, has eyes. And when papa
Lind comes home--when he finds that this Englishman has been making a
fool of him, and professing great zeal when he was only trying to steal
away the daughter--what then, friend Calabressa?"

"A girl must marry," said Calabressa.

"I thought she was too proud to think of such things," said the other,
scornfully. "However, I entreat you to say no more. What concern have I
with Natalie Lind? I tell you, let her make more new friends."

Calabressa sat silent, his heart as heavy as lead. He had come with some
notion that he would secure one other--powerful, and in all of Lind's
secrets--on whom Natalie could rely, should any emergency occur in which
she needed help. But these jealous and envious taunts, these malignant
prophecies, only too clearly showed him in what relation Vincent
Beratinsky stood with regard to the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi and
the Englishman, her lover.

Calabressa sat silent. When some one began to play the zither, he was
thinking not of the Culturverein in London, but of the dark pine woods
above the Erlau, and of the house there, and of Natalie Berezolyi as she
played in the evening. He would ask Natalushka if she, too, played the
zither.

CHAPTER XX.

FIDELIO.

George Brand walked away from the house in Curzon Street in a sort of
bewilderment of hope and happiness and gratitude. He would even try to
accept Calabressa's well-meant counsel: why should he not be friends
with everybody? The world had grown very beautiful; there was to be no
more quarrelling in it, or envy, or malice.

In the dark he almost ran against a ragged little child who was selling
flowers.

"Will you buy a rose-bud, sir?" said she.

"What?" he said, severely, "selling flowers at this time of night? Get
away home with you and get your supper, and go to bed;" but he spoiled
the effect of his sharp admonition by giving the girl all the silver he
had in hi