"Do you really wish it, Melitta?" "You have once more been very kind to me." "Then it is simply from gratitude?" "And--friendship." "Farewell, Melitta!" "Happy journey, Oldenburg!" The baron went slowly towards the door; there he stopped, and came back once more to say: "Have you always been convinced that I was your friend, Melitta?" "Yes." "Have you always been convinced that I loved you?" Melitta was silent. "No? Never, at any time?" asked the baron, in a low voice. "Let us bury the past!" "No, Melitta, let us speak of it. I may not find another such opportunity in my life. No, no! For our old friendship, or whatever you call it, is dead, since I was fool enough to let you see that I loved you--and there is no bridge to span that abyss. For the moment we are united by common distress; as soon as I leave this room we shall be strangers again to each other. Melitta, by our former friendship, by the memory of our common youth and its happiness, tell me, did you never believe that I loved you?" "I do not know----" "That is hard," said the baron, "that is hard." He sank into a chair, leaned his arm on the back, and hid his face in his hand. He rose again, walked up and down with long strides, crossing his arms on his breast, and said, as if speaking to himself: "Why should men complain, who love and are loved again, if they are cheated out of their hopes in one way or another? Why do they complain who love and are not loved again, but at least have the consolation of seeing that their grief is respected, and that others pity their suffering? No--to love, as a son of earth can love, with all his soul, with every drop of blood in his veins, and then to learn--not that he is not loved again--pshaw, that is nothing--but that he is looked upon as a pretender, a mere trifler--ha, ha, ha!--that is real bliss such as is dealt out to the poor devils who are undergoing torture." "And if I cannot believe that you love me, who is to blame for it? Who arranged that scene in the garden of the village Serra di Falco? You or I?" "What?" said the baron, stopping suddenly, "are you really such a novice in love that I must give you an explanation of that farce? Do you really think that I--who do not easily overlook anything--had not long since seen you behind the myrtle hedge before I sank at Hortense's feet and invoked the sun, which had set long ago, and the moon, that was not shining, and the stars, that knew better, to witness my burning passion? Could you take that for a moment in earnest?" "What else?" "It was an allegory. I wished to show you: See, that is what you will have left if you refuse me. You force me, who wish to worship a saint, to seek forgetfulness in the arms of a----. Melitta, Melitta, confess! You knew perfectly well it was a farce, but you found it convenient to take it in earnest. You wished to get rid of me, and even at the price of a misunderstanding!"