“You knew?” the girl said, turning to him with wide eyes.

“Yes; and Calabressa, when he told me, implored me never to tell you.  Well, perhaps he thought it would give you needless pain.  But I was thinking, within the last few days, that I ought to tell you before I left for America.”

“Do you hear, mother?” the girl said, in a low voice.  “He is going away to America—­and alone.  I wished to go; he refuses.”

“Now I am going away much more contented, Natalie, since you will have a constant companion with you.  I presume, madame, you will remain in England?”

The elder woman looked up with rather a frightened air.

“Alas, monsieur, I do not know!  When at last I found myself free—­when I knew I could come and speak to my child—­that was all I thought of.”

“But you wish to remain in England:  is it not so?”

“What have I in the world now but this beautiful child—­whose heart is not cold, though her mother comes so late to claim her?”

“Then be satisfied, madame.  It is simple.  No one can interfere with you.  But I will provide you, if you will allow me, with better lodgings than these.  I have a few days’ idleness still before me.”

“That is his way, mother,” Natalie said, in a still lower voice.  “It is always about others he is thinking—­how to do one a kindness.”

“I presume,” he said, in quite a matter-of-fact way, “that you do not wish your being in London to become known?”

She looked up timidly, but in truth she could hardly take her attention away from this newly-found daughter of hers for a single second.  She still continued stroking the soft hair and rounded cheek as she said,

“If that is possible.”

“It would not be long possible in an open thoroughfare like this,” he said; “But I think I could find you a small old-fashioned house down about Brompton, with a garden and a high wall.  I have passed such places occasionally.  There Natalie could come to see you, and walk with you.  There is another thing,” he said, in a matter-of-fact way, taking out his watch.  “It is now nearly two o’clock.  Now, dear madame, Natalie is in the habit of having luncheon at one.  You would not like to see your child starve before your eyes?”

The elder woman rose instantly; then she colored somewhat.

“No doubt you did not expect visitors,” George Brand said, quickly.  “Well, what do you say to this?  Let us get into a four-wheeled cab, and drive down to my chambers.  I have an indefatigable fellow, who could get something for us in the desert of Saharra.”

“What do you say, child?”

Natalie had risen too:  she was regarding her mother with earnest eyes, and not thinking much about luncheon.

“I will do whatever you wish,” she was saying:  but suddenly she cried, “Oh, I am indeed so happy!” and flung her arms round her mother’s neck, and burst into a flood of tears for the first time.  She had struggled long; but she had broken down at last.