"Berezolyi," she answered, quickly; "he said it would be known."
"I for my part do not know it; but that is of no consequence," said the man. "I begin to perceive what it is that you demand. It is serious. I hope my friend Calabressa is justified. I have but to do my duty."
Then he glanced at the young lady—or, rather, at her costume.
"The assistance you demand for some one, signorina: is it a sum of money—is it a reasonable, ordinary sum of money that would be in the question, perhaps?"
"Oh no, signore; not at all!"
"Very well. Then have the kindness to write your name and your address for me: I will convey your appeal."
He brought her writing materials; after a moment's consideration she wrote—"Natalie Lind, the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi. Hotel ——." She handed him the paper.
"A thousand thanks, signorina. To-day, perhaps to-morrow, you will hear from the friends of Calabressa. You will be ready to go where they ask you to go?"
"Oh yes, yes, sir!" she exclaimed. "How can I thank you?"