Natalie Lind was apparently thinking of other things.  She neither rebuked nor approved Anneli’s speech; though it was hard that the little Saxon maid should have preferred to the sturdy, white-haired, fair-skinned warriors of her native land the elegant young gentlemen of Francis Joseph’s army.

“They are handsome, those Englishmen,” Natalie Lind was saying, almost to herself, “and very rich and brave; but they have no sympathy.  All their fighting for their liberty is over and gone; they cannot believe there is any oppression now anywhere; and they think that those who wish to help the sufferers of the world are only discontented and fanatic—­a trouble—­an annoyance.  And they are hard with the poor people and the weak; they think it is wrong—­that you have done wrong—­if you are not well off and strong like themselves.  I wonder if that was really an English lady who wrote the ‘Cry of the Children.’”

“I beg your pardon, Fraulein.”

“Nothing, Anneli.  I was wondering why so rich a nation as the English should have so many poor people among them—­and such miserable poor people; there is nothing like it in the world.”

They were walking along the broad road leading to the Marble Arch, between the leafless trees.  Suddenly the little Saxon girl exclaimed, in an excited whisper,

“Fraulein!  Fraulein!”

“What is it, Anneli?”

“The lady—­the lady who came with the flowers—­she is behind us.  Yes; I am sure.”

The girl’s mistress glanced quickly round.  Some distance behind them there was certainly a lady dressed altogether in black, who, the moment she perceived that these two were regarding her, turned aside, and pretended to pick up something from the grass.

“Fraulein, Fraulein,” said Anneli, eagerly; “let us sit down on this seat.  Do not look at her.  She will pass.”

The sudden presence of this stranger, about whom she had been thinking so much, had somewhat unnerved her; she obeyed this suggestion almost mechanically; and waited with her heart throbbing.  For an instant or two it seemed as if that dark figure along by the trees were inclined to turn and leave; but presently Natalie Lind knew rather than saw that this slender and graceful woman with the black dress and the deep veil was approaching her.  She came nearer; for a second she came closer; some little white thing was dropped into the girl’s lap, and the stranger passed quickly on.

“Anneli, Anneli,” the young mistress said, “the lady has dropped her locket!  Run with it—­quick!”

“No, Fraulein,” said the other, quite as breathlessly, “she meant it for you.  Oh, look, Fraulein!—­look at the poor lady—­she is crying.”

The sharp eyes of the younger girl were right.  Surely that slender figure was being shaken with sobs as it hurried away and was lost among the groups coming through the Marble Arch!  Natalie Lind sat there as one stupefied—­breathless, silent, trembling.  She had not looked at the locket at all.