"In these days," cried she, "when the want of lively sensibilities and of courage to express the little that still exists is doubly felt, I have reserved to myself the child-like habit of naïve admiration wherever and however I find what is admirable, and the privilege of Homer's heroes of giving unveiled expression to my admiration. And when among the insipid faces of the north--present company, gentlemen, is always excepted--I see a face for whose description even the sun-bathed portraits of a Titian, a Raphael or a Velasquez do not suffice, which I can compare to nothing but that miraculous picture to which I owe my most sublime impressions, to that indescribably dignified and yet most divinely benignant Head of Christ over the high altar in the Cathedral of Monreale at Palermo--I must speak it out though Signor Giraldi does raise his hand so deprecatingly, thereby increasing his resemblance to the picture, which will be to me henceforward indeed only a portrait." "I am delighted to offer a humble theme to so lofty an artistic imagination as undoubtedly inspires Fräulein von Wallbach," answered Giraldi. "I think we must be going," said Frau von Wallbach, with an absent look at the ceiling. "Good heavens! Half-past two!" cried Carla, starting up; "how time flies in such interesting company!" The company dispersed; Giraldi, who had gone with them to the door, came back slowly, his head raised, his dark eyes gleaming with triumph, and a smile of contempt curling his lip. Suddenly, in the centre of the room, he stood still, and for a moment his face grew dark as night, but the next he was smiling again, and with a smile he asked: "Is that the look of a victor after the battle?" Valerie had sunk back, with closed eyes, utterly exhausted in her chair, believing that he had left the room. At the first sound of his voice she started. "Which you have won!" "For you!" He bent down to her as he had done before and raised her hand to his lips. "My lady's hand is cold, however warm I know her heart to be. The noise of the battle is not fit for her sensitive nerves. We must take care that she retires betimes to a quieter spot, where she may await the end in peace." "What do you mean?" asked Valerie with a smile, though a shudder ran through her. "It is a plan which has just taken shape in my mind, and which--but no, not now, when you need repose! not now; to-morrow, perhaps, when these eyes may shine more boldly, when the blood will run more warmly in this dear hand--the day after to-morrow--there is no hurry; you know that Gregorio Giraldi does not make his plans for a day." "I know it," answered Valerie. He now really left the room; Valerie listened, she heard his door shut, she was alone. She rose trembling limbs and tottered to the chair in which Elsa had sat, and there fell upon her knees, pressing her forehead against the back.