"I am not idly curious, my little daughter," he said at length, and very gently; "but if you knew how long your mother and I were friends, you would understand the interest I feel in you, and why I came all this way to see the little Natalushka. So, one question, dear little one. Does your father approve?"
"Ah, how can I tell?"
He took her hand, and his face was grave.
"Listen now," said he; "I am going to give you advice. If your mother could speak to you, this is what she would say: Whatever happens—whatever happens—do not thwart your father's wishes."
She wished to withdraw her hand, but he still held it.
"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."