They were shown into an antechamber, but scantily furnished, and the porter disappeared.  In a minute or two there came into the room a small, sallow-complexioned man, who was no other than the Secretary Granaglia.  He bowed, and, as he did so, glanced from the one to the other of the visitors with scrutiny.

“It is no doubt correct, signorina,” said he, addressing himself to Natalie, “that you have brought the signora your mother with you.  We had thought you were alone, from the message we received.  No matter; only”—­and here he turned to Natalie’s mother—­“only, signora, you will renew your acquaintance with one who wishes to be known by the name of Von Zoesch.  I have no doubt the signora understands.”

“Oh, perfectly, perfectly!” said the elder woman:  she had been familiar with these prudent changes of name all her life.

The Secretary Granaglia bowed and retired.

“It is some one who knows you, mother?” Natalie said, breathlessly.

“Oh, I hope so!” the other answered.  She was a little pale, and her fingers were tightly clasped.

Then a heavier step was heard in the empty corridors outside.  The door was opened; there appeared a tall and soldierly-looking man, about six feet three in height and perfectly erect, with closely-cropped white hair, a long white mustache, a reddish face, and clear, piercing, light-blue eyes.  The moment the elder woman saw him she uttered a slight cry—­of joy, it seemed, and surprise—­and sprung to her feet.

“Stefan!”

“Natalie!” he exclaimed, in turn with an almost boyish laugh of pleasure, and he came forward to her with both hands outstretched, and took hers.  “Why, what good wind has brought you to this country?  But I beg a thousand pardons—­”

He turned and glanced at Natalie.

“My child,” she said, “let me present you to my old friend, General—­”

“Von Zoesch,” he interrupted, and he took Natalie’s hand at the same time.  “What, you are the young lady, then, who bearded the lion in his den this morning?—­and you were not afraid?  No, I can see you are a Berezolyi; if you were a man you would be forever getting yourself and your friends into scrapes, and risking your neck to get them out again.  A Berezolyi, truly!  ‘The more beautiful daughter of a beautiful mother!’ But the little scamp knew his insulting iambics were only fit to be thrown into the fire when he made that unjust comparison.  Ah, you young people have fresh complexions and bright eyes on your side, but we old people prefer our old friends.”

“I hope so, sir,” said Natalie, with her eyes bent down.

“And had your father no other messenger that he must employ you?” said this erect, white-haired giant, who regarded her in a kindly way; “or is it that feather-brained fellow Calabressa who has got you to intercede for him?  Rest assured.  Calabressa will soon be in imminent peril of being laid by the heels, and he is therefore supremely happy.”