the girl said, impetuously. She drew out from some concealed pocket a small case, and opened it. "Do you think it is for smooth faces one cares? There—I will never look at it again!"
She threw it on to the table with a proud gesture.
"But you had it next your heart, Natalushka," said her mother, smiling.
"But I have you in my heart, mother: what do I want with a portrait?" said the girl.
She drew her daughter down to her again, and put her arm once more round her neck.
"I once had hair like yours, Natalushka, but not so beautiful as yours, I think. And you wore the locket, too? Did not that make you guess? Had you no suspicion?"
"How could I—how could I?" she asked. "Even when I showed it to Calabressa—"
Here she stopped suddenly.
"Did he know, mother?"
"Oh yes."