“Why, the markiss has gone dumb! ’E never opens ’is mouth ’ardly from morning till night! ’Ow is a girl to learn anything from him? I can read a little, you know, Doctor, but not enough to improve myself, and I carn’t go back to school, now I’m a markiness!” “No! you’re too old for that! Well! we must see what we can do together, Hannah, you and I! Your husband is out almost all day, so I could come over here sometimes, and give you a lesson in conversation, that is, if you really wish to learn.” “I’d like to learn Italian with you,” said Hannah, softly. Von Steinberg stared. “Italian, my dear! What are you talking of? I think we had better get on with a little English first! When shall it be? Shall I come up to-morrow morning and begin our studies?” Hannah approached him, and laid her hand gently on his arm. “I shall like to learn with you!” she said, softly, in the same voice she had used a moment before. “You are good. I feel it! I shall love you for your kindness to me.” Karl von Steinberg started away from her, as if he had been stung. What was the expression in her face, which had so improved its expression? Rough Hannah Stubbs seemed to have gone away, and a gentle-featured, alluring woman to have stepped into her place. Her eyes, always beautiful, glowed with gratitude and sensibility--her touch was tender--her smile had become plaintive and appealing. The doctor shook off her grasp rather rudely than otherwise, and, rising, declared it was time he returned home, and left the cottage without another word. CHAPTER XIII. Karl von Steinberg was naturally a great lover of Art and Beauty, but hard work and want of means, had prevented him hitherto from indulging his taste for either. Now, however, that he had money at his command, he took the keenest pleasure in surrounding himself with everything that struck his fancy, or pleased his eye. His house in Portland Place was furnished with æsthetic taste and delicacy. The wide hall and staircase were laid with the softest carpets, and decorated with towering palms and hothouse flowers. The salons were hung with rich tapestries, and ornamented with _objets d’art_, whilst the pictures, transported from the Berlin gallery, formed an uncommon attraction in a private house. The Baron did not indulge in these expensive luxuries for his own gratification only. He had a liberal and expansive heart, and loved to gather round him as many of his countrymen as he knew in London, as well as all those who had been kind to him in his poorer days. His sudden accession to Fortune soon drew a crowd of acquaintances to share in his good things, whilst his rank attracted men of good birth and position amongst them.