"There are some things that are not to be expressed in words, Signor Calabressa. I cannot tell you what I think of your kindness to me." "Silence! do you not understand my joking? _Eh, bien_; let us understand each other. Your father has spoken to me--a little, not much. He would rather have an end to the love affair, _n'est ce pas_?" "There are some other things that are not to be spoken of," the girl said, in a low voice, but somewhat proudly. "Natalushka, I will not have you answer me like that. It is not right. If you knew all my history, perhaps you would understand why I ask you questions--why I interfere--why you think me impertinent--" "Oh no, signore; how can I think that?" She had her mother's portrait in her hand; she was gazing into the face that was so strangely like her own. "Then why not answer me?" She looked up with a quick, almost despairing look. "Because I try not to think about it," she said, hurriedly. "Because I try to think only of my work. And now, Signor Calabressa, you have given me something else to think about; something to be my companion when I am alone; and from my heart I thank you." "But you speak as if you were in great grief, my little one. It is not all over between you and your lover?" "How can I tell? What can I say?" she exclaimed; and for a moment her eyes looked up with the appealing look of a child. "He does not write to me. I may not write to him. I must not see him." "But then there may be reasons for delay and consideration, little Natalushka; your father may have reasons. And your father did not speak to me as if it were altogether impossible. What he said was, in effect, 'We will see--we will see.' However, let us return to the important point: it is my advice to you--you cannot have forgotten it--that whatever happens, whatever you may think, do not, little one, seek to go against your father's wishes. You will promise me that?" "I have not forgotten, signore; but do you not remember my answer? I am no longer a child. If I am to obey, I must have reasons for obeying." "What?" said he smiling. "And you know that one of our chief principles is that obedience is a virtue in itself?" "I do not belong to your association, Signor Calabressa." "The little rebel!" "No, no, signore; do not drive me into a false position. I cannot understand my father, who has always been so kind to me; it is better not to speak of it: some day, when you come back, Signore Calabressa, you will find it all a forgotten story. Some people forget so readily; do they not?" The trace of pathetic bitterness in her speech did not escape him. "My child," said he, "you are suffering; I perceive it. But it may soon be over, and your joy will be all the greater. If not, if the future has trouble for you, remember what I have told you. _Allons donc!_ Keep up a brave heart; but I need not say that to the child of the Berezolyis." He rose, and at the same moment a bell was heard below.