Sara was fond of the Large family because they looked happy.
But she liked the gentleman next door because he looked unhappy.
The school's servants were always talking about him.
Sara learned that the English gentleman had become ill after losing his fortune.
He'd gotten his fortune back, but he was still sick.
"His problems were connected with diamond mines," said the cook.
She glanced at Sara. "We all know they're trouble."
"That man was just like Papa," Sara said to herself.
"He felt just what my Papa felt, only he did not die."
So Sara grew even fonder of the sick gentleman next door.
Whenever she was sent out at night, she stopped outside his house.
She liked to peek into the house and see him sitting in his armchair, his forehead resting in his hand.
She often wished him good night.
"Perhaps you can feel my good wishes even if you can't hear them," she said.
"I hope you'll get well and be happy again. I'm so sorry for you."
She went on her way, feeling comforted and a bit warmer herself.
But she kept worrying about the man.
He looked to Sara like someone who had a lot of trouble on his mind.
Meanwhile Mr. Large and his daughters Janet and Nora often visited the gentleman.
The sick man's name was Mr. Carrisford. Mr. Large's real name was Mr. Carmichael.
He was Mr. Carrisford's lawyer.
One evening Janet told Mr. Carrisford about the Little Girl Who Is Not a Beggar.
He was very interested.
Then Ram Dass told him the story of the monkey's escape.
Ram Dass described the servant girl's cold attic room and her hard, narrow bed.
The story upset Mr. Carrisford.
He was wealthy and comfortable while children were cold and hungry.
"I wonder how many of the attics in London are like that one," he said to Mr. Carmichael.
"How many young servant girls sleep on hard beds while I sleep on soft pillows?"
"My dear fellow," Mr. Carmichael answered in a cheery voice.
"You must stop thinking thoughts like this.
Even if you had all the wealth in the world, you could not improve all the attics in London.
You must focus your thoughts on becoming well."
Mr. Carrisford sat and bit his nails as he stared into the fire.
"Do you think the girl I'm looking for is living in such a horrid place?" he asked suddenly.
Mr. Carmichael looked at him uneasily.
He knew that this kind of thinking was very dangerous to the frail gentleman's health.
"I don't think so," he said finally in a soothing tone.
"That girl was adopted by a wealthy Russian couple."
"I must find her!" Mr. Carrisford went on.
"If she is friendless and penniless, it is my fault!
She is the daughter of my dear friend, Captain Crewe."
"Are you sure his daughter was sent to boarding school in France?" Mr. Carmichael asked.
"Perhaps we're searching for the wrong girl."
"I'm not sure of anything." Mr. Carrisford bit his nails again.
"Crewe and I talked mainly about the mines.
Her mother was French, so I assumed she went to a French school."
"The French headmistress pronounced the student's name Carew instead of Crewe," Mr. Carmichael reminded him.
"So it's possible that we are on the trail of the wrong girl."
"We must find Crewe's daughter!"
Mr. Carrisford clutched Mr. Carmichael's arm. "Help me find her!"
"Don't worry," said Mr. Carmichael.
"I'll go to Moscow to look for the girl.
If she's not the right girl, we will keep searching."
"If I were able to travel, I would go with you," said Mr. Carrisford.
"But I am too ill. I can only sit here wrapped in fur and staring at the fire.
And when I look into it, I see Crewe's face gazing back at me.
And he's asking me a question: 'Tom, where is my little girl?'"
Mr. Carrisford grabbed Mr. Carmichael's hand desperately.
"I must be able to answer him!"
On the other side of the wall, Sara was sitting in her room, talking to Mel the rat.
"It was very hard to be a princess today, Mel," she said.
"It gets harder as the weather gets colder and the streets get wetter."
Lavinia had laughed at Sara's skirt, spattered with mud from the street.
But Sara had not responded.
"You can't snap at people if you're a princess," she explained to the rat.
"But it was such a cold afternoon. And it's so cold tonight."
Sara put her head in her lap. "Oh, Papa," she whispered.
"It seems like such a long time since I was your little girl!"