you think of the little one's voice."

"I think," said Lucy, with that disapproval which she could not
altogether restrain, "that it is very wonderful, when it is so fine,
that we never heard it before----"

"Ah, Bice," cried the Contessa, "our dear lady is determined that she
will not be pleased to-night. We had prepared a little surprise, and it
is a failure. She will not understand that we love to please. She will
have us to be superior, as if we were English."

"Indeed, indeed," cried Lucy, full of compunction, "I know you are
always kind. And I know your ways are different--but----" with a sort of
regretful reflectiveness, shaking her head.

"All England is in that but," said the Contessa. "It is what has always
been said to me. In our country we love to arrange these little effects,
to have surprises, impromptus, events that are unexpected. Bice, go, my
child, go to bed, after this excitement you must rest. You did well, and
pleased me at least. My sweet Lucy," she said, when the girl with
instant obedience had disappeared into the next room, "I know how you
see it all from your point of view. But we are not as you, rich, secure.
We must make while we can our _coup_. To succeed by one _coup_, that is
my desire. And you will not interfere?"

"Oh, Contessa," cried Lucy, "will you not spare the child? It is like
selling her. She is too good for such a man. He is scarcely a man; he is
a boy. I am ashamed to think that you should care to please----him, or
any one like him. Oh, let it come naturally! Do not plan like this, and
scheme and take trouble for----"

"For an establishment that will make her at once safe and sure; that
will give her so many of the things that people care for--beautiful
houses, a good name, money---- I have schemed, as you say, for little
things much of my life," said the Contessa, shaking her head with a
mournful smile; "I have told you my history: for very, very little
things--for a box at the opera, for a carriage, things which are
nothing, sweetest Lucy. You have plenty; such things are nothing to you.
You cannot understand it. But that is me, my dear one. I have not a
higher mind like you; and shall I not scheme," cried the Contessa, with
sudden energy, "for the child, to make her safe that she may never
require scheming? Ah, my Lucy! I have the heart of a mother to her, and
you know what a mother will do."

Lucy was silent, partly touched, partly resisting. If it ever could be
ri