Bertalda bent forward to look more closely at the man, who said this with such certainty, as if he were reading it from a paper which lay on the table before him. "Supposing, of course," continued Giraldi, "that you do not answer the letter which she will write to you on the second day, and that altogether you play at drawing back a little as a person whose kindness has been misunderstood, and so on. If you can and will do this we remain friends; if you will not--it is not well to make an enemy of me, believe me." Bertalda rose and went behind her chair, and leant both her elbows on the back. "If I only knew," she said, "what you have to do with it all?" "And if you knew?" "Then I should know what to do myself. I am not afraid of you--what can you do to me? but I fear for poor Ottomar. I do not wish that any harm should happen to him." Giraldi got up also, seated himself sideways in the chair on which Bertalda leant, and took her hands in his. "Good girl!" he said; "and if I swear to you that I am Ottomar's best friend, that he has no secrets from me, not even that of his debts; that it is I who have just now helped him up again, that it is from me that he has the hundred-thaler notes, of which, perhaps, one or two have found their way into your pocket; and if in case you will not believe me, I show it to you in black and white, in Ottomar's own hand, what would you say then?" "Nothing at all," answered Bertalda. She had, while he still held her hands, come round the chair, and suddenly sat down on his lap, with her hands, which she now freed, stroking his soft black beard. "At most, that you are a charming uncle, such as are scarce, and that you deserve a kiss, and--there, you have one." She had wound her arms round his neck, and kissed him, first teasingly, then with a passion which seemed to surprise even herself, and which also deprived him for the moment of the full use of his faculties, so that he did not hear the knock at the door, and only let Bertalda slip off his knee when François was already in the room. Bertalda gave a shriek of surprise, and hastily drew her veil over her face. "What do you want?" cried Giraldi hotly. "Monsieur Antonio, monsieur!" said François in a whisper; "he begs so urgently." "All right," said Giraldi. "Show mademoiselle out. I will let in the young man myself. I shall hear from you, mademoiselle. For the present, adieu."