“The English tongue is so difficult,” she said.  “And I have so much—­so much—­to say!  I have written out many things that I wish to tell her; and have repeated them, and repeated them; but the sound is not right—­the sound is not like what my heart wishes to say to her.”

“Reassure yourself, madame, on that point,” said he, cheerfully:  “I should imagine there is scarcely any language in Europe that your daughter does not know something of.  You will not have to speak English to her at all.”

She looked up with bright eagerness in her eyes.

“But not Magyar?”

“I do not know for certain,” he said, “for I don’t know Magyar myself; but I am almost convinced she must know it.  She has told me so much about her countrymen that used to come about the house; yes, surely they would speak Magyar.”

A strange happy light came into the woman’s face; she was communing with herself—­perhaps going over mentally some tender phrases, full of the soft vowel sounds of the Magyar tongue.

“That,” said she, presently, and in a low voice, “would be my crowning joy.  I have thought of what I should say to her in many languages; but always ‘My daughter, I love you,’ did not have the right sound.  In our own tongue it goes to the heart.  I am no longer afraid:  my girl will understand me.”

“I should think,” said he, “you will not have to speak much to assure her of your love.”

She seemed to become a great deal more cheerful; this matter had evidently been weighing on her mind.

“Meanwhile,” she said, “you promised to tell me all about Natalie and yourself.  Her father does not approve of your marrying.  Well, his reasons?”

“If he has any, he is careful to keep them to himself,” he said.  “But I can guess at some of them.  No doubt he would rather not have Natalie marry; it would deprive him of an excellent house-keeper.  Then again—­and this is the only reason he does give—­he seems to consider it would be inexpedient as regards the work we are all engaged in—­”

“You!” she said, with a sudden start.  “Are you in the Society also?”

“Certainly, madame.”

“What grade?”

He told her.

“Then you are helpless if he forbids your marriage.”

“On the contrary, madame, my marriage or non-marriage has nothing whatever to do with my obedience to the Society.”

“He has control over Natalie—­”

“Until she is twenty-one,” he answered promptly.

“But,” she said, regarding him with some apprehension in her eyes, “you do not say—­you do not suggest—­that the child is opposed to her father—­that she thinks of marrying you, when she may legally do so, against his wish?”

“My dear madame,” said he, “it will be difficult for you to understand how all this affair rests until you get to know something more about Natalie herself.  She is not like other girls.  She has courage; she has opinions of her own:  when she thinks that such and such a thing is right, she is not afraid to do it, whatever it may be.  Now, she believes her father’s opposition to be unjust; and—­and perhaps there is something else that has influenced her:  well, the fact is, I am ordered off to America, and—­and the girl has a quick and generous nature, and she at once offered to share what she calls my banishment.”