Then she left, and he was about to leave also.
"No," said the beautiful mother to him, with a smile on the pale face.
"Sit down; I have something to say to you."
He sat down, his hat still in his hand.
"I have not thanked you," she said. "I see who has done all this: do you
think a stranger would know to have the white-rose scent for me that
Natalie uses? She was right: you are kind--you think of others."
"It is nothing--it is nothing," he said, hastily, and with all an
Englishman's embarrassment.
"My dear friend," said his companion, with a grave kindness in her tone,
and a look of affectionate interest in her eyes, "I am going to prove my
gratitude to you. I am going to prevent--what do you call it?--a lover's
quarrel."
He started.
"Yesterday," she continued, still regarding him in that kindly way,
"before we left your rooms, Natalushka was very reserved toward you; was
it not so? I perceived it; and you?"
"I--I thought she was tired," he stammered.
"To-morrow you are to fetch her here; and what if you find her still
more reserved--even cold toward you? You will be pained, perhaps
alarmed.
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