r a moment. She pretended to read;
but every person who came into the reading-room caused her to look up
with a start of apprehensive inquiry. At last there came a note for her.
She broke open the envelope hurriedly, and found a plain white card,
with these words written on it:

"_Be at the Villa Odelschalchi, Portici, at four this afternoon._"

Joy leaped to her face again.

"Mother, look!" she cried, eagerly. "After all, we may hope."

"This time you shall not go alone, Natalushka."

"Why not, mother? I am not afraid."

"I may be of use to you, child. There may be friends of mine there--who
knows? I am going with you."

In course of time they hired a carriage, and drove away through the
crowded and gayly-colored city in the glow of the afternoon. But they
had sufficient prudence, before reaching Portici, to descend from the
carriage and proceed on foot. They walked quietly along, apparently not
much interested in what was around them. Presently Natalie pressed her
mother's arm, they were opposite the Villa Odelschalchi--there was the
name on the flat pillars by the gate.

This great plain building, which might have been called a palazzo rather
than a villa, seemed, on the side fronting the street, to be entirely
closed--all the casements of the windows being shut. But when they
crossed to the gate, and pulled the big iron handle that set a bell
ringing, a porter appeared--a big, indolent-looking man, who regarded
them calmly, to see which would speak first.

Natalie simply produced the card that had been sent to her.

"This is the Villa Odelschalchi, I perceive," she said.

"Oh, it is you, then, signorina?" the porter said, with great respect.
"Yes, there was one lady to come here at four o'clock--"

"But the signora is my mother," said Natalie, perhaps with a trifle of
impatience.

The man hesitated for a moment, but by this time Natalie, accompanied by
her mother, had passed through the cool gray archway into the spacious
tessellated court, from which rose on each hand a wide marble staircase.

"Will the signorina and the signora her mother condescend to follow me?"
the porter said, leading the way up one of the staircases, the big iron
keys still in his hand.

They were shown into an antechamber, but scantily furnished, and the
porter disappeared. In a minute or two there came into the room a small,
sallow-complexioned man, who was no other than the Secretary Granaglia.
He bowed, and, as he did so