In Signora Biancona's house no preparations had been made so far which might lead to the inference of a speedy departure, and yet one seemed to be under discussion in the interview which had just taken place between her and Reinhold Almbach. The two were alone in the singer's brilliantly and dazzlingly illuminated saloon; but Beatrice's beautiful face bore an expression of unmistakable excitement. Leaning against the cushions of the divan, her lips pressed angrily together, she plucked to pieces one of the beautiful bouquets which ornamented the celebrated actress' reception-room so plentifully; while Reinhold was walking up and down the room with folded arms and gloomily clouded brow. It only required a single glance to guess that one of those stormy scenes was being enacted which Maestro Gianelli declared were as frequent between the two as was sunshine. "I beg you, Beatrice, spare me any more of these exhibitions," said Reinhold, with great violence. "You cannot alter an affair already determined upon. Marchese Tortoni received my promise, and our departure for Mirando is arranged for to-morrow." "Well, then, you must retract this promise," replied Beatrice, in the same tone. "You gave it without my knowledge, gave it weeks ago, and then we had already decided to spend our _villegiatura_ in the mountains this year." "Certainly! And I shall follow you there as soon as I return from Mirando." "As soon as you return! As if Tortoni would not try every means to chain you there as usual, and if now, in addition, you go in your brother's company, it is a matter of course that you will be kept away from me as long as possible." Reinhold stopped suddenly, and a dark look was turned towards her. "Will you not have the goodness to leave this wearisome, exhausted subject at last?" asked he, sharply. "I know already quite well enough that there is no sympathy between you and Hugo; but he, at any rate, spares me any dissertations upon it, and does not require me to share his sympathies and antipathies. Besides, you must allow that he has never been impolite towards you." Beatrice threw her bouquet aside and rose. "Oh, yes, I allow that, certainly; and it is just this courteousness which annoys me so much. The agreeable conversations, with the everlasting, scornful smile on his lips; the attentions, with contempt in his eyes; that is quite the German manner, from which I suffered so much in your north, which governs and rules us in the so-called circles of society, which knows how to restrain us there, even when fighting ever so bitterly with any one. Your brother understands that perfectly; nothing hits him, nothing wounds him; everything glances off from his everlasting, mocking smile. I--I hate him, and he me not less."