do otherwise?" she said. "You, mother: would you have me think
of a marriage procured through my father's death? It is too horrible!"

The mother went to her, and took her two hands.

"My poor child, are you to have no happier life than I have had, after
all? When I used to see you, I used to say to myself, 'Ah, my little
Natalushka will never know what has befallen me--she will have a happy
life!' I could see you laughing as you walked in the gardens there. You
looked so pleased, so content, so bright and cheerful. And now you also
are to have a life of disappointment and sad memories--"

"Oh, you must not talk like that, mother," the girl said, hastily, in a
low voice. "Have I not you with me? We shall always be together, shall
we not? And you know we shall not have time for brooding over what is
past; we shall have much to do; we must make a pleasant small home
somewhere. Oh, there are many, many people far worse off in the world
than we are. So you must think of getting away from Naples, mother; and
think of where you would like to live, and where I should be most likely
to be able to earn a little. The years will teach us to
forget--and--and--And now you know why I do not wish to go back to
England."

Her eyes were cast down, but she was forcing herself to speak quite
cheerfully.

"You see, mother, my knowing English is a great advantage. If we were to
go to one of the towns on the Riviera, like Nice or Mentone, where so
many English families are, one might get pupils who would want to learn
English songs as well as Italian and German--"

"Yes, yes, Natalushka; but I am not going to have you slave for me. The
little allowance that my cousins send me will do very well for us two,
though you will not get so fine dresses. Then, you see, Natalushka,
Mentone or Nice would be a dear place to live in."

"Very well, mother," said the girl, with the same apparent cheerfulness,
"I will go down and post my letter, and at the same time get the loan of
a guide book. Then we shall study the maps, and pick out a nice, quiet,
remote little place, where we can live--and forget."

The last two words were uttered to herself as she opened the door and
went out. She sighed a little as she went down the staircase--that was
all; she was thinking of things very far away. She passed into the hall,
and went to the bureau for some postage-stamps. As she stood there, some
one, unperceived, came up to her: it was Calabressa.

"Little