"What is the matter with me?" he muttered. "What is the matter with me?--_Ho--non lo so neppur io: una febbre che mi divora, ho, che il sangue mi abbrucia, che il cervello mi si spezza; ho in fine, che non ne posso più, che sono stanco di questa vita!_" Ferdinande had tried to resist the outbreak, but without success. She shook from head to foot; from his flaming eyes a spark had shot into her own heart, and her voice trembled as she now replied with as much composure as she could command, "You know I do not understand you when you speak so wildly and fast." "You did understand me," muttered the youth. "I understood nothing but what I could see without all that--that 'a fever consumes you, that your blood chokes you, that your brain is about to burst, that you are tired of this life'--in German; that 'you sat too late at your club last night, and raved too much about fair Italy, and drank too much fiery Italian wine.'" The blue veins appeared on his fine white brow; a hoarse sound like the cry of a wild beast came from his throat. He reached toward his breast, where he usually carried his stiletto--the side pocket was empty--his eyes glanced about as if he were looking for a weapon. "Do you mean to murder me?" His right hand, which was still clutching his breast, relaxed and sank; his left also dropped, his fingers were interlocked, a stream of tears burst from his eyes, extinguishing their glow; he fell on his knees and sobbed: "_Pardonatemi! Ferdinanda, l'ho amata dal primo giorno che l'ho veduta, ed adesso--ah! adesso----_" "I know it, poor Antonio," said Ferdinande, "and that is why I pardon you--once more--for the last time! If this scene is repeated I shall tell my father, and you will have to go. And now, Signor Antonio, stand up!" She extended her hand, which he, still kneeling, pressed to his lips and his forehead. "Antonio! Antonio!" echoed the voice of Justus outside; immediately there was a rap upon the door which led to the court. Antonio sprang to his feet. "Is Antonio here, Miss Ferdinande?" Ferdinande went herself to open the door. "Are you still at work?" inquired Justus, coming in.--"But I thought we were going with your cousin to the Exhibition?" "I am waiting for him; he has not yet appeared; just go on ahead with Antonio; we shall meet in the sculpture gallery." "As you say!--What you have done today on the eyes is not worth anything--an entirely false expression! You have been working without your model again; when will you come to see that we are helpless without a model!--_Andiamo, Antonio!_ If you are not ashamed to cross the street with me!" He had taken a position by the side of the Italian as if he wished to give Ferdinande the pleasure he found in contrasting his short stout figure, in the worn velvet coat and light trousers of doubtful newness, with the elegant, slender, handsome youth, his assistant. But Ferdinande had already turned away, and only said once more, "in the sculpture gallery, then!"