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"Natalushka," the mother said, cautiously, and yet with an anxious
scrutiny, "I have often wondered--whether you knew much--much about the
Society."
"Oh no, mother! I am allowed to translate, and sometimes I hear that
help is to be given here or there; but I am in no secrets at all. That
is my misfortune."
The mother seemed much relieved.
"It is not a misfortune, child. You are happier as you are, I think.
Then," she added, with a quick glance, "you have never heard of
one--Bartolotti?"
"No," she answered; but directly afterwards she exclaimed, "Oh yes, yes!
Bartolotti, that is the name Calabressa gave me. He said if ever I was
in very serious trouble, I was to go to Naples; and that was the
password. But I thought to myself, 'If I am in trouble, why should I not
go to my own father?'"
The mother rose and went to the girl, and put her arm round her
daughter's neck, and stooped down.
"Natalushka," said she, earnestly, "you are wiser than Calabressa. If
you are in trouble, do not seek any help that way. Go to your father.


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