He placed before her a small bit of pasteboard, with some lines marked on it.

“Now we will imagine that some day you are in great trouble; you know not what to do; and you suddenly, bethink yourself, ’Now it is Calabressa, and the friends of Calabressa, who must help me—­’”

“Pardon me, signore,” said Natalie, gently.  “To whom should I go but to my father, if I were in trouble?  And why should one anticipate trouble?  If it were to come, perhaps one might be able to brave it.”

“My little daughter, you vex me.  You must listen.  If no trouble comes, well!  If it does, are you any the worse for knowing that there are many on whom you can rely?  Very well; look!  This is the Via Roma in Naples.”

“I know it,” said Natalie:  why should she not humor the good-natured old albino, who had been a friend of her mother’s?

“You go along it until you come to this little lane; it is the Vico Carlo; you ascend the lane—­here is the first turning—­you go round, and behold! the entrance to a court.  The court is dark, but there is a lamp burning all day; go farther in, there are wine-vaults.  You enter the wine-vaults, and say, ‘Bartolotti.’  You do not say, ’Is Signor Bartolotti at home?’ or, ‘Can I see the illustrious Signor Bartolotti,’ but ‘Bartolotti,’ clear and short.  You understand?”

“You give yourself too much trouble, signore.”

“I hope so, little daughter.  I hope you will never have to search for these wine-vaults; but who knows? Alors, one comes to you, and says, ‘What is your pleasure, signorina?’ Then you ask, ‘Where is Calabressa?’ The answer to that?  It may be, ‘We do not know;’ or it may be, ‘Calabressa is in prison again,’ or it may be,’Calabressa is dead.’  Never mind.  When Calabressa dies, no one will care less than Calabressa himself.”

“Some one would care, signore; you have a mother.”

He took her hand.

“And a daughter, too,” he said, lightly; “if the wicked little minx would only listen.  Then you know what you must say to the man whom you will see at the wine-vaults; you must say this, ’Brother, I come with a message from Calabressa; it is the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi who demands your help.’  Then do you know what will happen?  From the next morning you will be under the protection of the greatest power in Europe; a power unknown but invincible; a power that no one dares to disobey.  Ah, little one, you will find out what the friends of Calabressa can do for you when you appeal to them!”

He smiled proudly.

“Allons! Put this card away in a secret place.  Do not show it to any one; let no one know the name I confided to you.  Can you remember it, little daughter?”

“Bartolotti.”

“Good!  Now that is one point settled; here is the next.  You do not seem to have any portrait of your mother, my little one?”

“Ah, no!” she exclaimed, quickly; for she was more interested now.  “I suppose my father could not bear to be reminded of his loss:  if there is any portrait, I have not seen it; and how could I ask him?”