Ten minutes thereafter he was standing alone, in the broad daylight outside, reading the lines she had written early that morning, and in every one of them he read the firm and noble character of the woman he loved.  He was almost bewildered by the proud-spirited frankness of her message to him; and involuntarily he thought of the poor devil of a poet in the garret who spoke of his faithful friend and his worthless mistress.

“One is fortunate indeed to have a friend like Evelyn,” he said to himself.  “But when and has, besides that, the love of a woman like this—­then the earth holds something worth living for.”

He looked at the brief, proud, pathetic message again—­“I am your wife:  why should you go alone?” It was Natalie herself speaking in every word.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

INTERVENTION.

The more that Madame Potecki thought over the communication made to her by Natalie, the more alarmed she became.  Her pupils received but a very mechanical sort of guidance that afternoon.  All through the “One, two, three, four; one, two, three, four” she was haunted by an uneasy consciousness that her protest had not been nearly strong enough.  The girl had not seemed in the least impressed by her counsel.  And suppose this wild project were indeed carried out, might not she, that is, Madame Potecki, be regarded as an accomplice if she remained silent and did not intervene?

On the other hand, although she and Ferdinand Lind were friends of many years standing, she had never quite got over a certain fear of him.  She guessed pretty well what underlay that pleasant, plausible exterior of his.  And she was not at all sure that, if she went to Mr. Lind and told him that in such and such circumstances his daughter meant to go to America as the wife of George Brand, the first outburst of his anger might not fall on herself.  She was an intermeddler.  What concern of hers was it?  He might even accuse her of having connived at the whole affair, especially during his absence in Philadelphia.

But after all, the little Polish lady was exceedingly fond of this girl; and she resolved to go at all hazards and see whether something could not be done to put matters straight.  She would call at the chambers in Lisle Street, and make sure of seeing Mr. Lind alone.  She would venture to remind him that his daughter was grown up—­a woman, not to be treated as a child.  As she had been altogether on the father’s side in arguing with Natalie, so she would be altogether on the daughter’s side in making these representations to Mr. Lind.  Perhaps some happy compromise would result.

She was, however, exceedingly nervous when, on the following afternoon, she called at Lisle Street, and was preceded up-stairs by the stout old German.  In the room into which she was shown Reitzei was seated.  Reitzei received her very graciously; they were old friends.  But although Madame Potecki on ordinary occasions was fond of listening to the sound of her own voice, she seemed now quite incapable of saying anything.  Reitzei had been fortunate enough to hear the new barytone sing at a private house on the previous evening; she did not even ask what impression had been produced.