Something in his correspondence had obviously annoyed the occupant of this little study.  His brows were bent down, and he kept his foot nervously and impatiently tapping on the floor.  When some one knocked, he said, “Come in!” almost angrily, though he must have known who was his visitor.

“Good-morning, papa!” said the tall Hungarian girl, coming into the room with a light step and a smile of welcome on her face.

“Good-morning, Natalie!” said he, without looking up.  “I am busy this morning.”

“Oh, but, papa,” said she, going over, and stooping down and kissing him, “you must let me come and thank you for the flowers.  They are more beautiful than ever this time.”

“What flowers?” said he, impatiently.

“Why,” she said, with a look of astonishment, “have you forgotten already?  The flowers you always send for my birthday morning.”

But instantly she changed her tone.

“Ah!  I see.  Good little children must not ask where the fairy gifts come from.  There, I will not disturb you, papa.”

She touched his shoulder caressingly as she passed.

“But thank you again, papa Santa Claus.”

At breakfast, Ferdinand Lind seemed to have entirely recovered his good-humor.

“I had forgotten for the moment it was your birthday, Natalie,” said he.  “You are quite a grown woman now.”

Nothing, however, was said about the flowers, though the beautiful basket stood on a side-table, filling the room with its perfume.  After breakfast, Mr. Lind left for his office, his daughter setting about her domestic duties.

At twelve o’clock she was ready to go out for her accustomed morning walk.  The pretty little Anneli, her companion on these excursions, was also ready; and together they set forth.  They chatted frankly together in German—­the ordinary relations between mistress and servant never having been properly established in this case.  For one thing, they had been left to depend on each other’s society during many a long evening in foreign towns, when Mr. Lind was away on his own business.  For another, Natalie Lind had, somehow or other, and quite unaided, arrived at the daring conclusion that servants were human beings; and she had been taught to regard human beings as her brothers and sisters, some more fortunate than others, no doubt, but the least fortunate having the greatest claim on her.

“Fraulein,” said the little Saxon maid, “it was I myself who took in the beautiful flowers that came for you this morning.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, indeed; and I thought it was very strange for a lady to be out so early in the morning.”

“A lady!” said Natalie Lind, with a quick surprise.  “Not dressed all in black?”

“Yes, indeed, she was dressed all in black.”

The girl was silent for a second or two.  Then she said, with a smile,

“It is not right for my father to send me a black messenger on my birthday—­it is not a good omen.  And it was the same last year when we were in Paris; the concierge told me.  Birthday gifts should come with a white fairy, you know, Anneli—­all silver and bells.”