And now--now he might even see her alone for a couple of minutes in the
hushed little drawing-room; and she might say if she had heard about
what had been done in the North, and about his eagerness to return to
the work. One look of thanks; that was enough. Sometimes, by himself up
there in the solitary inns, the old fit had come over him; and he had
laughed at himself, and wondered at this new fire of occupation and
interest that was blazing through his life, and asked himself, as of
old, to what end--to what end? But when he heard Natalie Lind's voice,
there was a quick good-bye to all questioning. One look at the calm,
earnest eyes, and he drank deep of faith, courage, devotion. And surely
this story of the man Kirski--what he could tell her of it--would be
sufficient to fill up five minutes, eight minutes, ten minute, while
all the time he should be able to dwell on her eyes, whether they were
downcast, or turned to his with their frank, soft glance. He should be
in the perfume of the small drawing-room. He would see the Roman
necklace Mazzini had given her gleam on her bosom as she breathed.

He did not know what Natalie Lind had been about during his absence.

"Anneli, Anneli--hither, child!" she called in German. "Run up to Madame
Potecki, and ask her to come and spend the afternoon with me. She must
come at once, to lunch with me; I will wait."

"Yes, Fraulein. What music, Fraulein?"

"None; never mind any music. But she must come at once."

"Schon, Fraulein," said the little Anneli, about to depart.