"Yes, yes, Madame Potecki; I understand. What is your news?"
"It is—about Natalie," she managed to say, and then all the methods of beginning that she had studied went clean out of her mind; and she was reduced to an absolute silence.
He did not seem in the least impatient.
"Yes; about Natalie?" he repeated, taking up a paper-knife, and beginning to write imaginary letters on the leather of the desk before him.
"You will say to me, 'Why do you interfere?'" the little woman managed to say at last. "Meddlers do harm; they are not thanked. But then, my dear friend, Natalie is like my own child to me; for her what would I not do?"
Mr. Lind could not fail to see that his visitor was very
nervous and agitated: perhaps it was to give her time to compose herself that he said, leisurely,
"Yes, Madame Potecki; I know that you and she are great friends; and it is a good thing that the child should have some one to keep her company; perhaps she is a little too much alone. Well, what do you wish to say about her? You run no risk with me. You will not be misunderstood. I know you are not likely to say anything unkind about Natalie."
"Unkind!" she exclaimed; and now she had recovered herself somewhat. "Who could do that? Oh no, my dear friend; oh no!"
Here was another awkward pause.