Natalie rose; and of course Brand rose also, with a sudden qualm of
disappointment, for he took that as the signal of his dismissal; and he
had scarcely spoken a word to her.

"Mr. Brand," said she, with some little trifle of embarrassment, "I know
I must have deprived you of your luncheon. It was so kind of you to go
at once with the poor man. Would it save you time--if you are not going
anywhere--I thought perhaps you might come and have something with
madame and myself. You must be dying of hunger."

He did not refuse the invitation. And behold! when he went down-stairs,
the table was already laid for three; had he been expected, he asked
himself? Those flowers there, too: he knew it was no maid-servant's
fingers that had arranged and distributed them so skilfully.

How he blessed this little Polish lady, and her volubility, and her
extravagant, subtle, honest flattery of her dear adopted daughter! It
gave him liberty to steep himself in the rich consciousness of Natalie's
presence; he could listen in silence for the sound of her voice--he
could covertly watch the beauty of her shapely hands--without being
considered preoccupied or morose. All he had to do was to say, "Yes,
madame," or "Indeed, madame," the while he knew that Natalie Lind was
breathing the same air with him--that at any moment the large, lustrous
dark eyes might look up and meet his. And she spoke little, too; and had
scarcely her usual frank self-confidence: perhaps a chance reference of
Madame Potecki to the fact that her adopted daughter had been brought up
without a mother had somewhat saddened her.

The room was shaded in a measure, for the French silk blinds were down;