"Mind your eyes, Oswald," said Melitta, in that rapid manner in which speech can hardly be distinguished from mere breathing, and when yet every syllable is distinctly heard--"Your sweet love-letters are caught on the way by profane eyes, broken open, and read." Cloten had in vain tried to convince Hortense that it had been her husband's own wish that he should lead her to table. "Don't be such a fool, Arthur," she said, "it is a trick of Oldenburg's, you may rely on it. Have you ever talked with Oldenburg about me?" "Never, Hortense--_parole d'honneur_!" "I am sure you have done it. You will ruin me with your foolish way of talking." "But, Hortense----" "Hush, Oldenburg is watching us all the time." "Cloten," said the Baron. "What, baron?" "Will you go with me to Italy next fall? You know in that matter?" "Should like it furiously, baron; but, you know, a thousand reasons against it; first, hunting season; secondly, races; thirdly, I hate travelling; fourthly, I do not understand a word of Italian." "Well, that is the least of all. What one has to know is only, _Si_, _signore_, _anima mia dolce_, and all other things you learn by examining boatmen." Cloten blushed to the root of his hair, for, as Oldenburg said these words he felt Hortense's foot on his own, and heard her whisper in a voice half drowned by tears: "There, you see, Arthur; did I not tell you?" Melitta also, who had become quite silent ever since she found herself sitting opposite Oldenburg, seemed to be particularly struck by this remark. She suddenly cast down her long lashes, as if she wished to conceal what was going on in her heart. "I appeal to you to bear me witness," said Oldenburg to her. "Has your Italian been of much use to you?" "On the contrary," said Melitta, and her dark eyes flashed brightly. "It only made me listen to many a false, untruthful word, which would otherwise have remained unintelligible." "Yes, yes, the Italians are great liars," laughed Oldenburg. "Let us rather say, there is much lying done in Italy," replied Melitta. "Defeated again," murmured the baron. "That woman is still as beautiful as an angel and as wise as a serpent. Yes, she is more beautiful than ever. Her eyes are larger and more brilliant; her shoulders are rounder; her voice is softer and sweeter--and all that for the sake of the handsome fellow by her side! Hm!--Doctor, will you do me the honor to take a glass of champagne with me? I thought I saw a cloud on your forehead. Let us drive it away! You know: _Dulce est desipere in loco._" "What kind of a horrible lingo is that again, baron?" asked Cloten.