"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 down. Our business, little one, is finished; is it not? Now repeat to me the name I mentioned to you."
"Bartolotti?"
"Excellent, excellent! And you will keep the portrait from every one's eyes but your own. Now, farewell!"