d her mother's portrait in her hand; she was gazing into the face
that was so strangely like her own.

"Then why not answer me?"

She looked up with a quick, almost despairing look.

"Because I try not to think about it," she said, hurriedly. "Because I
try to think only of my work. And now, Signor Calabressa, you have given
me something else to think about; something to be my companion when I am
alone; and from my heart I thank you."

"But you speak as if you were in great grief, my little one. It is not
all over between you and your lover?"

"How can I tell? What can I say?" she exclaimed; and for a moment her
eyes looked up with the appealing look of a child. "He does not write to
me. I may not write to him. I must not see him."

"But then there may be reasons for delay and consideration, little
Natalushka; your father may have reasons. And your father did not speak
to me as if it were altogether impossible. What he said was, in effect,
'We will see--we will see.' However, let us return to the important
point: it is my advice to you--you cannot have forgotten it--that
whatever happens, whatever you may think, do not, little one, seek to go
against your father's wishes. You will promise me that?"

"I have not forgotten, signore; but do you not remember my answer? I am
no longer a child. If I am to obey, I must have reasons for obeying."

"What?" said he smiling. "And you know that one of our chief principles
is that obedience is a virtue in itself?"

"I do not belong to your association, Signor Calabressa."

"The little rebel!"

"No, no, signore; do not drive me into a false position. I cannot
understand my father, who has always been so kind to me; it is better
not to speak of it: some day, when you come back, Signore Calabressa,
you will find it all a forgotten story. Some people forget so readily;
do they not?"

The trace of pathetic bitterness in her speech did not escape him.

"My child," said he, "you are suffering; I perceive it. But it may soon
be over, and your joy will be all the greater. If not, if the future has
trouble for you, remember what I have told you. _Allons donc!_ Keep up a
brave heart; but I need not say that to the child of the Berezolyis."

He rose, and at the same moment a bell was heard below.

"You are not going, Signore Calabressa? That must be my father."

"Your father!" he exclaimed; and he seemed confused. Then he added,
quickly, "Ah, very well. I will see him as I go