“And yet whole peoples have been robbed of that last and dearest possession!” said Paulo, his brow suddenly darkening, “and not, as in your case, to save life and liberty, but for the purpose of enslaving and oppressing them.” Natalie, perceiving the sudden sadness of her friend, attempted to smile, and, grasping his hand, she said: “Come, Paulo, we are naughty children, and vex ourselves with vagaries, while all nature is so cheerful and so replete with divine beauty. Only see with what glowing splendor the departing sun rests upon the tops of the cypresses! Ah, it is nowhere so beautiful as here in my dear garden. This is my world and my happiness! Sometimes, Paulo, it makes me shudder to think that the walls surrounding us might suddenly tumble down, and all the tall houses standing behind them, and all the curious people lounging in the streets, could then look in upon my paradise! That must be terrible, and yet Marianne tells me that other people live differently from us, that their houses are not surrounded by walls, and that no watchman with dogs drives away troublesome visitors from them. And yet, she says, they smilingly welcome such inconvenient people, receiving them with friendly words, while they only thank God when they finally go and leave the occupants in peace. Is it then true, Paulo, that people can be so false to each other, and that those who live in the world never dare to speak as they think?” “It is, alas! but too true, Natalie,” said Paulo, with a sad smile. “Then never let me become acquainted with such a world,” said the young maiden, clinging to Paulo’s arm. “Let me always remain here in our solitude, which none but good people can share with us. For Marianne is good, as also Cecil, your servant; and Carlo--oh, Carlo would give his life for me. He is not false, like other people; I can confide in him.” “Think you so!” asked Paulo, looking deep into her eyes with a scrutinizing glance. She bore his glances with a cheerful and unembarrassed smile, and a roguish nod of her little head. “You must certainly wish to paint me again, that you look at me so earnestly. No, Paulo, I will not sit to you again, you paint me much too handsome; you make an angel of me, while I am yet only a poor little thing, who lives but by your mercy, and does not even know her own name!” “Angels never have a name, they are only known as angels, and need no further designation. As there is an Angel Gabriel, so there is an Angel Natalie!” “Mocker,” said she, laughing, “there are no feminine angels! But now come, be seated. Here is my guitar, and I will sing you a song for which Carlo yesterday brought me the melody.” “And the words?” asked Paulo.