"Has he called me so to you? To be sure the name is not strange in our circle of friends. Rinaldo gave it me once, when I led his first steps to the path of art. A somewhat romantic designation, especially according to German views, is it not, Signor? You hardly have such in your north?" "Sometimes," said the Captain quietly, "only with a slight difference. With us, muses are ideal, floating in unattainable heights. Here they are--beautiful women. An undeniable advantage for the artist!" The words sounded like a compliment, and adhered steadily to the playful tone which Beatrice herself had commenced; nevertheless she cast a quick searching glance at the speaker's face--perhaps she saw the sparkling scorn in it--as she answered sharply-- "For my part, I confess to have no sympathy with the north. Simply because compelled, did I pass some short time there, and could only breathe again when Italy's sky rose above me. We southerners cannot succeed in submitting to the icy, pedantic rules which confine society there, to the fetters which they would wish even to impose upon artists." Hugo leant with perfect indifference against the marble balustrade. "Good God, that is of no importance. They are easily broken, and then one is free as the birds in the air. Reinhold proved that sufficiently, and now he has foresworn home and pedantic rules for ever, which is entirely due to you, Signora." Beatrice used her fan violently, although at this moment the evening breeze blew refreshingly cool. "How do you mean, Signor?" asked she, quickly. "I? Oh, I mean nothing, excepting, perhaps, that it must be an elevating sensation to have thus the entire fate of a man--or even a family--in one's hands; in tearing him away from his 'fetters,' one must feel in such a case something like an earthly providence. Is it not so, Signora?" Beatrice had started slightly at these words, whether from astonishment or anger was not easy to decide. Her eyes met his; but this time they measured one another, as two antagonists do. The Italian's glance flashed; but the Captain bore it so firmly and quietly, that she felt it was not such an easy game opposite those clear brown eyes, which dared fearlessly to break a lance with her. "I believe Rinaldo has every cause to be grateful to this providence," replied she, proudly. "Perhaps he would have sunk amid circumstances and surroundings which were unworthy of him, if it had not aroused his genius and shown him the path to greatness." "Perhaps," said Hugo, coolly. "But people maintain that real genius never does sink, and the more difficulties it has to penetrate the more do they strengthen its power; however, that, of course, is also one of the northern pedantic views. The result has decided in favour of your view, Signora, and success is a god to which all bow."