She had spoken quickly, breathlessly, not taking much notice of her words, but she was appalled by the effect they produced.  Lind started, as if he had been struck; and for a second, as he regarded her, the eyes set under the heavy brows burnt like coals, and she noticed a curious paleness in his face, especially in the lips.  But this lasted only for an instant.  When he spoke, he was quite calm, and was apparently considering each word.

“Are you authorized to bring me this message?” he said, slowly.

“Oh no; oh no!” the little woman exclaimed.  “I assure you, my dear friend, I came to you because I thought something was about to happen—­something that might be prevented.  Ah, you don’t know how I love that darling child; and to see her unhappy, and resolved, perhaps, to make some great mistake in her life, how could I help interfering?”

“So,” continued Lind, apparently weighing every word, “this is what she is bent on!  If Brand goes to America, she will go with him?”

“I—­I—­am afraid so,” stammered Madame Potecki.  “That is what I gathered from her—­though it was only an imaginary case she spoke of.  But she was pale, and trembling, and how could I stand by and not do something?”

He did not answer; his lips were firm set.  Unconsciously he was pressing the point of the paper-knife into the leather; it snapped in two.  He threw the pieces aside, and said, with a sudden lightness of manner,

“Ah, well, my dear madame, you know young people are sometimes very headstrong, and difficult to manage.  We must see what can be done in this case.  You have not told Natalie you were coming to me?”

“No.  She asked me at first; then she said she would tell you herself.”

He regarded her for a second.

“There is no reason why you should say you have been here?”

“Perhaps not, perhaps not,” Madame Potecki said, doubtfully.  “No; there is no necessity.  But if one were sure that the dear child were to be made any happier—­”

She did not complete the sentence.

“I think you may leave the whole affair in my hands, my dear Madame Potecki,” said Lind, in his usual courteous fashion.  He spoke, indeed, as if it were a matter of the most trifling importance.  “I think I can promise you that Natalie shall not be allowed to imperil the happiness of her life by taking any rash steps.  In the mean time, I am your debtor that you have come and told me.  It was considerate of you, Madame Potecki; I am obliged to you.”

The little woman was practically dismissed.  She rose, still doubtful, and hesitated.  But what more could she say?

“I am not to tell her, then?” she said.

“If you please, not.”

When he had graciously bowed her out, he returned to his seat at the desk; and then the forced courtesy of his manner was abandoned.  His brows gathered down; his lips were again firm set; he bent one of the pieces of the paper-knife until that snapped too; and when some one knocked at the door, he answered sharply in German.