"I do not understand you," she said. "Papa"s wishes will always be for my happiness; why should I think of thwarting them?"
"Why, indeed? And again, why? It is my advice to you, my little daughter, whether you think your father"s wishes are for your happiness or not--because, you know, sometimes fathers and daughters have different ideas--do not go against his will."
The hot blood mounted to Natalie"s forehead--for the first time during this interview.
"Are you predicting strife, signore? I owe obedience to my father, I know it; but I am not a child. I am a woman, and have my own wishes. My papa would not think of thwarting them."
"Natalushka, you must not be angry with me."
"I am not angry, signore; but you must not suppose that I am quite a child."
"Pardieu, non!" said Calabressa. "I expected to find Natalushka; I find Natalie--ah, Heaven! that is the wonder and the sadness of it to me! I think I am talking to your mother: these are her hands. I listen to her voice: it seems twenty years ago. And you have a proud spirit, as she had: again I say--do not thwart your father"s wishes, Natalie--rather, Natalushka!"
He spoke with such an obvious kindness and earnestness that she could not feel offended.
"And if you want any one to help you at any time, my little daughter--for who knows the ways of the world, and what may happen?--if your father is sent away, and you are alone, and you want some one to do something for you, then this is what you will say to yourself: "There is that old fool Calabressa, who has nothing in the world to do but smoke cigarettes and twirl his mustache--I will send for Calabressa." And this I promise, little one, that Calabressa will very soon be at your feet."
"I thank you signore."
"It is true, I may be away on duty, as your father might be; but I have friends at head-quarters; I have done some service. And if I were to say, "Calabressa wishes to be relieved from duty; it is the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi who demands his presence," I know the answer: "Calabressa will proceed at once to obey the commands of the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi.""
"But who--"
"No, my little daughter, you must not ask that. I will tell you only that they are all-powerful; that they will protect you--with Calabressa as their agent; and before I leave this city I will give you my address, or rather I will give you an address where you will find some one who will guide you to me. May Heaven grant that there be no need. Why should harm come to one who is so beautiful and so gentle?"
"My mother--was she happy?" she said quickly.
"Little daughter," said he, sharply, and he threw away her hand, "if you ask me any more questions about your mother you will make my heart bleed. Do you not understand so simple a thing as that, you who claim to be a woman? You have been stabbing me. Come, come: _allons!_--let us talk of something else--of your friend who wishes to be more than a friend--you wicked little one, who have no sweetheart! And what are those fools of English about? What? But tell me--is he one of us?"
"Oh yes, signore," said she; and instead of showing any shamefacedness, she turned toward him and regarded him with the fearless, soft dark eyes. "How could you think otherwise? And he is so brave and n.o.ble: he is not afraid of sacrificing those things that the English put such store by--"
"English?" said Calabressa.
"Yes," said Natalie; and now she looked down.
"And what does your heart say?"
She spoke very gently in reply.
"Signor, I have not answered him yet; you cannot expect me to answer you."
"A la bonne heure! Little traitress, to say she has no sweethearts!
Happy Englishman! What, then, do I distress you? It is not so simple! It is an embarra.s.sment, this proposal that he has made to you! But I will not trouble you further with my questions, little daughter: how can an old jail-bird like myself understand a young linnet-thing that has always been flying and fluttering about in happiness and the free air?
Enfin, let us go! I perceive your little maid is tired of standing and staring; perhaps it is time for you to go back."
She rose, and the three of them slowly proceeded along the gravelled path.
"Your father does not return until next week: must I wait a whole week in this desert of a town before seeing you again, pet.i.te?"
"Oh no," said Natalie, smiling; "that is not necessary. If my papa were here now he would certainly ask you to dine with us to-night; may I do so in his place? You will not find much amus.e.m.e.nt; but Madame Potecki--you knew her husband, perhaps?"
"Potecki the Pole, who was killed?"
"Yes. She will play a little music for you. But there are so many amus.e.m.e.nts in London, perhaps you would rather not spend your evening with two poor solitary creatures like us."
"My little daughter, to hear you speak, that is all I want; it takes twenty years away from my life; I do not know whether to laugh or to cry. But _courage_! we will put a good face on our little griefs. This evening--this evening I will pretend to myself something--I am going to live my old life over again--for an hour; I will blow a horn as soon as I have crossed the Erlau, and they will hear it up at the big house among the pines, where the lights are shining through the dark, and they will send a servant down to open the gates; and you will appear at the hall-door, and say, "Signor Calabressa, why do you make such a noise to awaken the dogs?" And I will say, "Dear Miss Berezolyi, the pine-woods are frightfully dark; may I not scare away the ghosts?"
"It was my mother who received you," the girl said, in a low voice.
"It was Natalie then; to-night it will be Natalushka."
He spoke lightly, so as not to make these reminiscences too serious. But the conjunction of the two names seemed suddenly to startle the girl.
She stopped, and looked him in the face.
"It was you, then," she said, "who sent me the locket?"
"What locket?" he said, with surprise.
"The locket the lady dropped into my lap--"_From Natalie to Natalushka_.""
"I declare to you, little daughter, I never heard of it."
The girl looked bewildered.
"Ah, how stupid I am!" she exclaimed. "I could not understand. But if they always called her Natalie, and me Natalushka--"
She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts.
"Signor Calabressa, what does it mean?" she said, almost wildly. "If one sends me a locket--"_From Natalie to Natalushka_"--was it my mother"s?
Did she intend it for me? Did she leave it for me with some one, long ago? How could it come into the hands of a stranger?"
Calabressa himself seemed rather bewildered--almost alarmed.
"My little daughter, you have no doubt guessed right," he said, soothingly. "Your mother may have meant it for you--and--and perhaps it was lost--and just recovered--"
"Signor Calabressa," said she--and he could have fancied it was her mother who was speaking in that low, earnest, almost sad voice--"you said you would do me an act of friendship if I asked you. I cannot ask my father; he seems too grieved to speak of my mother at any time; but do you think you could find out who the lady was who brought that locket to me? That would be kind of you, if you could do that."
CHAPTER XVIII.
HER ANSWER.
Humphreys, the delegate from the North, and O"Halloran, the Irish reporter, had been invited by George Brand to dine with him on this evening--Humphreys having to start for Wolverhampton next day--and the three were just sitting down when Lord Evelyn called in, uninvited, and asked if he might have a plate placed for him. Humphreys was anxious that their host should set out with him for the North in the morning; but Brand would not promise. He was obviously thinking of other things.
He was at once restless, preoccupied, and silent.
"I hope, my lord, you have come to put our friend here in better spirits," said Humphreys, blushing a little as he ventured to call one of the Brands of Darlington his friend.