"I just want to have a look at Robin," replied Oldenburg, and then to Oswald; "excuse me a moment, doctor." Oswald was alone. The remarkably cool manner of the young nobleman had offended his pride, though he tried to convince himself that he despised him. He walked up and down in the room, much excited. His hatred of the nobility had been fanned into a flame; even Oldenburg's manner seemed to him to have been less cordial while Cloten was there. His eye fell upon the green silk curtain between the two bookcases, which had struck him before. "I wonder what this veiled image means? Perhaps a voluptuous Correggio. At all events, a key to the better knowledge of this strange man. You'll excuse my curiosity, _monsieur le baron_?" Oswald pulled the silken cord of the curtain, and the youth at Saïs, who lifted the veil before the sacred image of Isis, could not have been more startled than Oswald was when he saw, not a richly tinted Italian painting, but in a niche, a bust of chaste white marble, which, in spite of the antique hair-dress and a slight attempt to idealize, was nothing else than a striking portrait of Melitta. There was her rich waving hair; there her beautiful smooth brow, the straight, delicate nose; there were the soft lips, looking dewy even in marble! Before Oswald could recover from his amazement to find himself thus face to face with his beloved one, the baron entered. "Please excuse my indiscretion," said Oswald, who had not been able to draw the curtain back again; "but why do you keep veiled images here which belong in a sanctuary, and not in a common reception-room?" "You are right," replied the baron, without a trace of confusion; "this green veil is, like most veils, only a provocation; and, by the way, it is very foolish to conceal the copy when the original can be seen at any time by those who will take the trouble of going to Palermo and asking for leave to see the villa Serra di Falco." "Indeed?" said Oswald, annoyed by the imperturbable calmness with which the baron tried to make him swallow his story. "Ah! in Palermo? I had been tempted to look for the original nearer home." "You mean in Berlin, at the Museum!" said the baron. "There is a Muse there which looks very much like this bust, but if you examine it more closely you will soon see the difference." "Yes," replied Oswald; "the nose there is more decided, and the carriage of the head is slightly different, and altogether the resemblance with Frau von Berkow much less striking than in this bust." "Do you think so?" said the baron, rising and going up to the bust. "Really, you are right. There is really a slight resemblance between this bust and Frau von Berkow. Well, that does not make me like the work any less, as there are few ladies in the world whom I love more to be reminded of than that amiable and clever lady." The baron drew the curtain over the bust, as if he wished to end the conversation.