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Then he added,
quickly, "Ah, very well. I will see him as I go down. Our business,
little one, is finished; is it not? Now repeat to me the name I
mentioned to you."
"Bartolotti?"
"Excellent, excellent! And you will keep the portrait from every one's
eyes but your own. Now, farewell!"
He took her two hands in his.
"My beautiful child," said he, in rather a trembling voice, "may Heaven
keep you as true and brave as your mother was, and send you more
happiness. I may not see England again--no, it is not likely; but in
after-years you may sometimes think of old Calabressa, and remember that
he loved you almost as he once loved another of your name."
Surely she must have understood. He hurriedly kissed her on the
forehead, and said, "Adieu, little daughter!" and left. And when he had
gone she sunk into the chair again, and clasped both her hands round her
mother's portrait and burst into tears.
Calabressa made his way down-stairs, and, at the foot, ran against
Ferdinand Lind.
"Ah, amico mio," said he, in his gay manner.


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