"With difficulty," said Reinhold bitterly, "as you are such a mistress of the art, as few others can be. I have often enough seen that, when you have imagined yourself insulted by anyone. With you it overflows all bounds at once. But this time, you will remember, that it is my brother against whom this hatred is directed, and that through it I am not disposed to let myself be robbed of our first short meeting for years. I shall endure no insult, no attack, upon Hugo." "Because you love him more than me," cried Beatrice, wildly. "Because I count for nothing beside your brother. To be sure, what am I to you?" And now the way was opened to a regular flood of reproaches, complaints, and threats, which finally ended in a torrent of tears. All the passion of the Italian broke forth; but Reinhold seemed to be moved to nothing less than concession by it. He attempted to restrain her several times, and as he did not succeed, he stamped furiously with his foot. "Once more, Beatrice, cease these scenes. You know that you never gain anything with me by them, and I should have thought you had already found by experience that I am not such a slave without a will, that a word or a caprice from you is a command. I shall not put up with these continual exhibitions any longer, which you call forth on every occasion." He went furiously to the balcony, and, turning his back upon the room, looked down into the street, where the busy movement of the Corso was visible. For a few minutes Beatrice's passionate sobs were heard in the saloon; then all was still, and immediately after she placed a hand on his shoulder, as he stood at the window. "Rinaldo!" Half-reluctantly he turned round. His glance met Beatrice's glowing dark eye; a tear still stood in it, but it was no longer a tear of anger, and her voice, just now so excited, had a soft, melting ring in it. "You say I am a mistress in the art of hating. Only in hating, Rinaldo? You have often enough experienced the contrary." Reinhold now turned completely to her, and returned from the balcony. "I know that you can love," replied he, more mildly, "love warmly and wholly. But you can also torment with this love; that I have to feel every day." "And you would wish to flee this torment, at least for a time?" A deep reproach sounded in her voice. Almbach made an impatient movement. "I seek peace, Beatrice," said he, "and that I do not find at all near you. You can only breathe in constant heat and excitement, both are your conditions of life, and you drag your entire surroundings with you in the everlasting fire of your nature. I--am tired." "Of society or of me?" asked Beatrice, with freshly rising fury. "Can you not cease from seeking a stab in every word?" asked Reinhold, angrily. "I see we do not understand each other again to-day. Adieu!" "You are going!" cried the Italian, half-frightened, half-threateningly. "And with this farewell for a separation of weeks!"