He almost ungently checked her. “You forget,” said he, “that this little, insignificant, and unknown singer loves you no longer, Corilla! Grant, then, henceforth to the thousands who languish at your feet a few of your enticing smiles and glowing glances--I have nothing against it, and am not at all jealous!” “But you should be!” cried she, stamping her feet with rage. “I tell you I will not suffer you to leave me; I will be loved by you, and no one shall you dare to look at, and no one shall you dare to love, but me alone.” Carlo broke out into a scornful laugh, and then seriously and proudly said: “I am a Neapolitan, and with us men do not allow themselves to be constrained to love, and no woman there dares utter the command, ‘Thou shalt love me!’--I will not, Signora Corilla!” “You will not!” screamed she, gnashing her teeth. “Then woe to you and to her!” “I fear no serpents!” said Carlo, laughing, “and if an adder attempts to sting me, I tread it under foot!” “But fear at least for her you love!” she threateningly said. “Oh, you think I shall not be able to discover this secret love of yours, and not spy out this new divinity to whom you have consecrated your heart? Tremble therefore now, for I know her! I know the garden in which she lives, and there is a place in the wall just opposite her favorite seat; whoever knows that place and possesses a steady hand and a sharp dagger will know how to hurl it so as to pierce her bosom.” Carlo felt a deadly terror, he felt his heart stand still, but he collected himself and said, with a contemptuous smile: “Cardinal Francesco Albani indeed possesses among his _bravi_ many such skilful hands, and surely it will not require many of your highly-prized glances to induce him to favor you with the loan of one of them.” The signora slightly bit her lips. “You mock me,” she almost sadly said, “and yet you should remember that it is only love that makes me so savage and fills my heart with a thirst for vengeance! Carlo, I so warmly love you!” And the beautiful, glowing woman humbly and imploringly bent before her beloved. The latter laughingly said: “How well you know how to say that--with what variations and modulations! I yesterday heard you say the same to Cardinal Albani; to be sure, it sounded a little different, but not less warm and glowing!” “You know why I do that!” said she. “He is an enamored fool, whom I would win with tender words that I may make him my instrument. You know the object for which I strive, and which I must attain at any price! Ah, Carlo, when once they have crowned me in the capitol, then, I am sure, you will be compelled to love me again!” “Never again!” he harshly and roughly said. “Is that your last word?” shrieked she, with flashing eyes and the wild rage of a tigress. “It is my last word!” She flew to him like a mad person, seized his hands and fixedly stared him in the face.