“I hate the world and society,” said Natalie. “People are all bad, and I abominate them. What had I done to these people, how had I offended them even in thought, and yet they would have murdered me the very first time I appeared among them? No, no, leave me here in my solitude, where I at least have not to tremble for my life, where I have Carlo to guard and protect me.” The singer pressed the proffered hand to his lips. “Then let us at least make some excursions in the environs of Rome,” said he. “No,” said she, “I should everywhere long to be back in my garden. Nowhere is it so beautiful as here. Leave me my paradise--why would you drive me from it?” “Alas!” despairingly exclaimed Carlo, “you call yourself happy and satisfied; why, then, are you so sad?” “Am I sad?” she asked, with surprise. “No, Carlo, I am not sad! I sometimes dream, nothing more! Let me yet dream!” “You will die,” thought Carlo, and with an effort he forced back the cry of despair that pressed to his lips; but his cheeks paled, and his whole form trembled. Seeing it, Natalie shook off her apathy, and with a lively sympathy and tender friendship she inquired the cause of his disquiet. She was so near him that her breath fanned his cheek, and her locks touched his brow. “Ah, you would kill me, you would craze me!” murmured he, sorrowfully, sinking down, powerless, at her feet. She looked wonderingly at him. “Why are you angry with me?” she innocently said, “and what have I done, that you so wrongfully accuse me?” “What have you done?” cried he, beside himself,--the moment had overcome him, this moment had burst the bands with which he had bound his heart, and in unfettered freedom, in glowing passion, his long-concealed secret forced its way to his lips. He must at length for once speak of his sorrows, even if death should follow; he must give expression to his torment and his love, even should Natalie banish him forever from her presence! “What have you done?” repeated he. “Ah, she does not even know that she is slowly murdering me, she does not even know that I love her!” “Am I not to know?” she reproachfully asked. “Would you, indeed, have saved my life had you not loved me? Carlo I am indebted to you for my life, and you say I murder you!”