If this dream were shattered, at least he could turn elsewhere,
and say, "Labor, be thou my good."
Meanwhile, of this stranger? He had indeed taken Natalie Lind's hand in
his, and Natalie let it remain there without hesitation.
"My little daughter," said he to her in Italian, "I could have
recognized you by your hands. You have the hands of your mother: no one
in the world had more beautiful hands than she had. And now I will tell
you about her, if you promise not to cry any more."
It was Calabressa who spoke.
CHAPTER XVII.
CALABRESSA.
When Calabressa called at the house in Curzon Street he was at once
admitted; Natalie recognizing the name as that of one of her father's
old friends. Calabressa had got himself up very smartly, to produce an
impression on the little Natalushka whom he expected to see. His
military-looking coat was tightly buttoned; he had burnished up the gold
braid of his cap; and as he now ascended the stairs he gathered the ends
of his mustache out of his yellow-white beard and curled them round and
round his fingers and pulled them out straight.
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