"Let me look at you," said the prompt little music mistress, taking both her hands, and regarding her with her clear, shrewd blue eyes. "No; you are not looking well. The walk will do you good, my dear. Come away, then."
But Natalie paused in the passage, with some appearance of embarrassment. Anneli was standing by the door.
"Remember this, Anneli; if any one calls and wishes to see me—and particularly wishes to see me—you will not say, 'My mistress is gone out;' you will say, 'My mistress is
gone to the South Kensington Museum with Madame Potecki.' Do you understand that, Anneli?"
"Yes, Fraulein; certainly."
Then they left, going by way of the Park. And the morning was fresh and bright; the energetic little Polish lady was more talkative and cheerful than ever; the girl with her had only to listen, with as much appearance of interest as was possible, considering that her thoughts were so apt to wonder away elsewhither.
"My dear, what a lovely morning for us to go and look at my treasures! The other day I was saying to myself, 'There is my adopted daughter Natalie, and I have not a farthing to leave her. What is the use of adopting a child if you have nothing to leave her? Then I said to myself, 'Never mind; I will teach her my theory of living; that will make her richer than a hundred legacies will do.' Dear, dear! that was all the legacy my poor husband left to me."
She passed her hand over her eyes.
"Don't you ever marry a man who has anything to do with politics, my child. Many a time my poor Potecki used to say to me, 'My angel, cultivate contentment; you may have to live on it some day.'"
"And you have taken his advice, madame; you are very content."