in one who is
not related by blood."

"I have no one now left in the world to love but herself," said madame;
"and then you see, my dear friend Lind, her position appeals to one: it
is sad that she has no mother."

"Yes, yes," said Lind, with a trifle of impatience. "Now you were good
enough to come and tell me this afternoon, madame, about that foolish
little romance that Natalie has got into her head. It was kind of you;
it was well-intentioned. And after all, although that wish of hers to go
to America can scarcely be serious, it is but natural that romantic
ideas should get into the head of a younger girl--"

"Did not I say that to her?" exclaimed Madame Potecki, eagerly; "and
almost in these words too. And did not I say to her, 'Ah, my child, you
must take care; you must take care!'"

"That also was good advice," said Lind, courteously; "and no doubt
Natalie laid it to her heart. No, I am not afraid of her doing anything
very wild or reckless. She is sensible; she thinks; she has not been
brought up in an atmosphere of sentiment. One may say this or that on
the spur of the moment, when one is excited; but when it comes to
action, one reasons, one sees what one's duty is. Natalie may have said
something to you, madame, about going to America, but not with any
serious intention, believe me."

"Perhaps not," said Madame Potecki, with considerable hesitation.

"Very well, then," said Mr. Lind, as he rose, and stood before the
chimney-piece mirror, and arranged the ends of his gracefully tied
neckerchief. "We come to another point. It was very kind of you, my dear
madame, to bring me the news--to tell me something of that sort had been
said; but you know what ill-natured people will remark. You get no
appreciation. They call you tale-bearer!"

Madame colored slightly.

"It is ungenerous; it is not a fair requital of kindness; but that is
what is said," he continued. "Now, I should not like any friend of
Natalie's to incur such a charge on her account, do you perceive,
madame? And, in these circumstances, do you not think that it would be
better for both you and me to consider that you did not visit me this
afternoon; that I know nothing of what idle foolishness Natalie has been
talking? Would not that be better? As for me, I am dumb."

"Oh, very well, my dear friend," said madame, quickly. "I would not for
the world have Natalie or any one think that I was a mischief-maker--oh
no! And did I not promise to you