Presently Waters came in and announced that luncheon was on the table; the portieres were drawn aside; they passed into the farther end of the apartment, and sat down. The banquet was not a sumptuous one, and there were no flowers on the table; but it was everything that any human being could have done in fifteen minutes; and these were bachelors' rooms. Natalie took care to make a pretty speech in the hearing of Mr. Waters. "Yes, but you eat nothing," the host said. "Do you think your mother will have anything if she sees you indifferent?" Presently the mother, who seemed to be much amused with something or other, said in French, "Ah, my friend, I did not think my child would be so deceitful. I did not think she would deceive you." The girl stared with wide eyes. "She pretended to tell you what this poor man said to her," said the mother, with a quiet smile. "She forgot that some one else than herself might know Russian." Natalie flushed red. "Mother!" she remonstrated. "I said he had spoken a lot of foolish things." "After all," said the mother, "he said no more than what Calabressa says in the letter. You have been kind to him; he regards you as an angel; he will give you his life; you, or any one whom you love. The poor man! Did you see how he trembled?" Natalie turned to George Brand. "He said something more than that," said she. "He said he had undertaken some duty, some service, that was expected to have cost him his life. He did not know what it was: do you?" "I do not," said he, answering frankly the honest look of her eyes. "I can scarcely believe any one was foolish enough to think of intrusting any serious duty to a man like that. But still Calabressa hints as much; and I know he left England with Calabressa." "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?"