wrists. The only strong color was that of the scarlet geraniums which
she wore in her bosom, and in the splendid masses of her hair; and the
vertical sharp line of scarlet of her closed fan.

Once only, during this interval of waiting, did he find that calm
serenity of hers disturbed. He happened to observe the photograph of a
very handsome woman near him on the table. She told him she had had a
parcel of photographs of friends of hers just sent over from Vienna:
some of them very pretty. She went to another table, and brought over a
handful. He glanced at them only a second or two.

"I see they are mostly from Vienna: are they Austrian ladies?" he asked.

"They live in Austria, but they are not Austrians," she answered. And
then she added, with a touch of scorn about the beautiful mouth, "Our
friends and we don't belong to the women-floggers!"

"Natalie!" her father said; but he smiled all the same.

"I will tell you one of my earliest recollections," she said: "I
remember it very well. Kossuth was carrying me round the room on his
shoulder. I suppose I had been listening to the talk of the gentlemen;
for I said to him, 'When they burned my papa in effigy at Pesth, why was
I not allowed to go and see?' And he said--I remember the sound of his
voice even now--'Little child, you were not born then. But if you had
been able to go, do you know what they would have done to you? They
would have flogged you. Do you not know that the Austrians flog women?
When you grow up, little child, your papa will tell you the story of
Madame von Maderspach.'" Then she added, "That is one of my valued
recollections, that when I was a child I was carried on Kossuth's