"Natalushka," the mother said, cautiously, and yet with an anxious scrutiny, "I have often wondered—whether you knew much—much about the Society."
"Oh no, mother! I am allowed to translate, and sometimes I hear that help is to be given here or there; but I am in no secrets at all. That is my misfortune."
The mother seemed much relieved.
"It is not a misfortune, child. You are happier as you are, I think. Then," she added, with a quick glance, "you have never heard of one—Bartolotti?"
"No," she answered; but directly afterwards she exclaimed, "Oh yes, yes! Bartolotti, that is the name Calabressa gave me. He said if ever I was in very serious trouble, I was to go to Naples; and that was the password. But I thought to myself, 'If I am in trouble, why should I not go to my own father?'"
The mother rose and went to the girl, and put her arm round her daughter's neck, and stooped down.
"Natalushka," said she, earnestly, "you are wiser than Calabressa. If you are in trouble, do not seek any help that way. Go to your father."
"And to you, mother," said she, drawing down the worn, beautiful face and kissing it. "Why not to you also? Why not to you both?"
The mother smiled, and patted the girl's head, and then returned to the other side of the table. Waters brought in some fruit, fresh from Covent Garden.
He also brought in a letter, which he put beside his master's plate. Brand did not even look at it; he pushed it aside, to give him more room. But in pushing it aside he turned it somewhat and Natalie's eye happening to fall on the address, she perceived at once that it was in the handwriting of her father.