"I will obey you, dearest Colombe, for a word from you, as you must know, is law to me. My heart also tells me that you are right, always right. But it will be a terrible blow for him. Alas! I judge from my own heart. It is possible that his love for me may turn to hatred, it is possible that he will turn me out of doors. In that case how can I, a stranger, without friends or shelter, resist such powerful enemies as the Duchesse d'Etampes and the king's treasurer. Who will help me to defeat the plans of that terrible couple? Who will fight on my side in this unequal struggle? Who will hold out a helping hand to me?" "I!" said a deep, grave voice behind them. "Benvenuto!" cried the apprentice, without even turning round. Colombe shrieked and sprang to her feet. Ascanio gazed at his master, wavering between affection and wrath. "Yes, it is I, Benvenuto Cellini," continued the goldsmith,--"I, whom you do not love, mademoiselle,--I, whom you no longer love, Ascanio, and who come to save you both, nevertheless." "What do you say?" cried Ascanio. "I say that you must come and sit down again, here by my side, for we must understand one another. You have no need to tell me aught. I have not lost a word of your conversation. Forgive me for listening after I came upon you by chance, but you understand: it is much better that I should know all. You have said some things very sad and terrible for me to hear; but some kind things too. Ascanio was sometimes right and sometimes wrong. It is very true, Mademoiselle, that I would have disputed you with him. But since you love him, that's the end of it, be happy; he has forbidden you to love me, but I will force you to it by giving you to him." "Dear master!" cried Ascanio. "You suffer, monsieur, do you not?" said Colombe clasping her hands. "Ah, thanks, thanks!" said Benvenuto, as his eyes filled with tears, but restraining his feelings with a mighty effort. "You see that I suffer. He would not have noticed it, ungrateful boy! But nothing escapes a woman's eyes. Yes, I will not tell you a falsehood; I do suffer! and why not, since you are lost to me? But at the same time I am happy, because I am able to serve you; you will owe everything to me, and that thought comforts me a little. You were wrong, Ascanio; my Beatrice is jealous, and will brook no rival; you, Ascanio, must finish the statue of Hebe. Adieu, my sweetest dream,--the last!" Benvenuto spoke with effort, in a broken voice. Colombe leaned gracefully toward him, and put her hand in his. "Weep, my friend, weep," she said softly. "Yes, yes," said Cellini, bursting into tears. He stood for some time without speaking, weeping bitterly, and trembling with emotion from head to foot. His forceful nature gladly sought relief in tears too long held back. Ascanio and Colombe looked on in respectful silence at this exhibition of bitter grief.