"Unfortunately," said Oswald, "and that is the only defect, sweet one, which I have ever seen in you. But then you are so very sweet and good, and you go through all the mire without receiving a single stain on your robe. And much as you must gain by comparison with these vain, stupid peacocks, I can yet not help fearing that unawares some spark of the fiery hatred which I feel for the whole concern, may fall upon you also. Now you are my queen, my châtelaine, who has stolen away from her château to embrace her beloved by stealth for a moment, and I forget your rank, your greatness here in this charming forest solitude. You are nothing to me but she whom I love, whom I worship,--just what you would be to me if you were the beggar's daughter,--but there, in the brilliantly lighted rooms, surrounded by your great people, flattered and honored by everybody, there I cannot shut my eyes, and shall be painfully reminded that I ought not to have raised my eyes so high." "Now, Oswald," said Melitta, fixing her eyes firmly on his, "is that kind in you? Are you mocking me when you talk so? I hear it in the harsh tone of your voice; I see it in the restless flashing of your eyes, which contrasts so strangely with their usual calm and steady light, that you feel very well how you appear in our midst like a born ruler, thanks to your mind, your superb manly beauty and strength. I have given myself to you; you are my lord and master; I would willingly accede to your maddest whim; I would bear everything from your hand, even death would not seem cruel to me coming from you--but why will you pour even a drop of wormwood into the cup of love, from which I drink with such thirsty, eager desire? Oswald, do not laugh at me." "I do not, Melitta; I am sure of your love, although I deserve it so little; I know that your love is humble, as all love is which beareth all things and believeth all things--but you see, darling, that is the curse of these abominable institutions, that they sow distrust and hatred and discord in the hearts of men, even in such hearts which God has created for each other. And this poisonous seed flourishes and kills the roses of true love. I do not blame you for this; I blame no single person, who perhaps unconsciously suffers as much under these social distinctions as I do. But be sure it is so. The Catholic will never see his equal--his brother--in the Protestant, nor the noble in the humbly born, nor the Christian in the Jew--and vice versâ. Nathan's pious wish, that man might at last be content with being a man, is still far from fulfilment: who knows whether it will ever be fulfilled."