“Natalushka, you have been away trying to find some one?”

“Yes, mother,” the girl said, rather sadly.

“Why did you go alone?”

“I thought I would not tire you, dear mother.”

Then she described all the circumstances of her morning’s visit.

“But why should you be so sad, Natalushka?” the mother said, taking her daughter’s hand; “don’t you know that fine palaces may have rusty keys?  Oh, I can reassure you on that point.  You will not have to deal with persons like your friend the wine-merchant—­not at all.  I know at least as much as that, child.  But you see, they have to guard themselves.”

Natalie would not leave the hotel for a moment.  She pretended to read; but every person who came into the reading-room caused her to look up with a start of apprehensive inquiry.  At last there came a note for her.  She broke open the envelope hurriedly, and found a plain white card, with these words written on it: 

“Be at the Villa Odelschalchi, Portici, at four this afternoon.”

Joy leaped to her face again.

“Mother, look!” she cried, eagerly.  “After all, we may hope.”

“This time you shall not go alone, Natalushka.”

“Why not, mother?  I am not afraid.”

“I may be of use to you, child.  There may be friends of mine there—­who knows?  I am going with you.”

In course of time they hired a carriage, and drove away through the crowded and gayly-colored city in the glow of the afternoon.  But they had sufficient prudence, before reaching Portici, to descend from the carriage and proceed on foot.  They walked quietly along, apparently not much interested in what was around them.  Presently Natalie pressed her mother’s arm, they were opposite the Villa Odelschalchi—­there was the name on the flat pillars by the gate.

This great plain building, which might have been called a palazzo rather than a villa, seemed, on the side fronting the street, to be entirely closed—­all the casements of the windows being shut.  But when they crossed to the gate, and pulled the big iron handle that set a bell ringing, a porter appeared—­a big, indolent-looking man, who regarded them calmly, to see which would speak first.

Natalie simply produced the card that had been sent to her.

“This is the Villa Odelschalchi, I perceive,” she said.

“Oh, it is you, then, signorina?” the porter said, with great respect.  “Yes, there was one lady to come here at four o’clock—­”

“But the signora is my mother,” said Natalie, perhaps with a trifle of impatience.

The man hesitated for a moment, but by this time Natalie, accompanied by her mother, had passed through the cool gray archway into the spacious tessellated court, from which rose on each hand a wide marble staircase.

“Will the signorina and the signora her mother condescend to follow me?” the porter said, leading the way up one of the staircases, the big iron keys still in his hand.