Brand had withdrawn his hand from the lock.
"Calabressa," he said, quickly, "you, if anybody knows, must know where Natalie and her mother are. Tell me!"
"I will directly; but may I point out to you, my dear Monsieur Brand, that it rains—that we might go inside? Oh yes, certainly, I will tell you when we can say a word in secret, in comfort. But this devil of a climate! What should I have done if I had not bought myself this cloak in Paris? In Paris it was cold and wet enough; but one had nothing like what you have here. Sapristi! my fingers are frozen."
Brand hurried him up-stairs, put him into an easy-chair, and stirred up the fire.
"Now," said he, impatiently—"now, my dear Calabressa, your news!"
Calabressa pulled out a letter.
"The news—voila!"
Brand tore open the envelope; these were the contents:
"Dearest,—This is to adjure you not to leave England for the present—not till you hear from me—or until we return. Have patience, and hope. You are not forgotten. My mother sends you her blessing.