But Hannah seemed possessed by the fury of a demon. She flew at the papers and scattered them all over the floor by a twist of her hand. Still she was not content, but scratched about the bottom of the receptacle as if she were blind or acting under some spell, when she suddenly ceased, and drew from the inmost recesses of the drawer, a small card, yellow with age, which had become wedged at the back. She held it to the light with a discordant chuckle of triumph. On it was printed in flourishing Italian characters, “Marchese di Sorrento.” “What is that?” she cried, holding it out to the Professor, “is that your name, or is it not?” Ricardo was fain to confess the truth. “Sit down, Hannah, my dear,” he said, “compose yourself, I beg of you! There is no need for you to be angry with me! Be patient and I will tell you the whole story.” “Is that your name, or is it not?” repeated the girl, as she flourished the card in his face. “Yes! yes! it is, will that content you? But I shall never use it again, Hannah! I have very good reasons for not doing so, and you must regard this discovery on your part as if it had never been. Do you understand me?” “I don’t know as I do,” said Hannah; “this is your true name, you say?” “Yes! I am the Marchese di Sorrento,” replied Ricardo, with some degree of pride, “but, as I said before, I have discarded the title and consider that it is no longer mine! I am sorry you ever found it out, my dear. I should never have told you myself, but as it is, you must forget it as soon as you can.” “If it’s your name, it’s mine too,” said Hannah, with an obstinate look about the mouth. “It _would_ have been so, had I retained it,” interposed the Professor, quietly, “but since I choose to be known only as Signor Ricardo, my wife is Madame, or Mrs. Ricardo--nothing more!” “If it’s mine, it’s mine,” returned Hannah, doggedly, “and I don’t see why I’m to be called out of my name! Why should Mrs. Barnett, the grocer’s wife, call me ‘Missus’, when she ought to say ‘my lady?’ I ’eard ’er telling another customer larst night, as I was a foreigner! Like ’er impidence! I’ll shew ’er if I’m a foreigner! I’ll make ’er say ‘my lady’ next time she speaks to me, or I’ll get all our things from Addison’s.” “Hannah! Hannah! for Heaven’s sake, don’t make us the laughing stock of Hampstead,” exclaimed the Professor, in genuine distress, “however true the story may be, no one will believe it from your lips. They will ask you, if you are a lady, _why_ you do all the house-work by yourself. Such people as you speak of, only value their acquaintances by the amount of money they may happen to possess.” “And I don’t see why I shouldn’t ’ave a servant to help me!” replied Hannah, boldly. “If I’m a Markiness, it isn’t fit as I should cook and scrub and what not, making my ’ands filthy, and spoiling my complexion. I’ve been going to speak to you about that afore, Professor--I mean Markiss----”