When Blanden became better, he spoke to his nurse of their marriage. Giulia covered him with kisses, but she shuddered inwardly, both with joy and fear. Ever nearer drew the fatal moment which she awaited with equally ardent longing and nameless terror. More agitated than ever, she returned home. Beate was all the more cheerful, and hummed an Italian popular air. "I envy you your good humour, but it appears to me to be almost like mockery of me and my urgent need." "When there is a wedding in prospect, one cannot be sad." "A wedding, oh my God! Happiness which all the world would envy me, envy me with reason, which I would not reject, even if my soul's salvation were at stake--and side by side with the most supreme delight, stand the feelings of a criminal who is led to execution!" "_Vedremo_--there may still be a means of escape." "A means of escape--does not danger ever hover over my head, mortal danger?" "Perhaps there are means of disarming it." "Oh, speak! You are clever and cunning, Beate. I hunger for a word of hope, of comfort, for relief in my unbounded fear." "It would be a risk--" "What would I not risk in order to be free from this racking torture of my heart." "You could not undertake this risk, only I, and the consequences if it fail, would fall heavily upon my head." "I would implore you even to undertake the most daring act, if it can bring me rescue. And yet how could I plunge you too into destruction, require a sacrifice of you for which I can grant you no compensation?" "That be my affair, inseparable friendship in life and death is compensation for all." "_Carissima_, good Beate," said Giulia, as she cordially embraced her friend. "And then--I like setting out upon adventures, even if I must traverse break-neck paths. Danger attracts me, and all secrecy, even if it be not exactly sweet, has a great charm for me. It makes my blood surge, then I feel that I live! And if such a bold plan have succeeded, ah, what a triumph! Then people will say, 'what does not lie in such a pretty little head,' then one imagines oneself like the mouse that, in the fable, gnawed the lion's bonds. But to play a trick upon such an overbearing villain and robber, secretly, in the dead of night, without him perceiving or knowing it; to remove the weapon out of his hand--that alone is worth risking this neck for; I hope the saints will not leave so pretty a little creature as Beate Romani quite in the lurch." "And what do you think of doing?" "Give me money, I will travel to Italy." "To Italy?" "To the lake of Orta, to the island of San Giulio!" "You will--" "I know what I will, but not yet how I will carry it out. That must be left to the impulse of the moment. The past is a fairy tale, a legend, if the proofs be wanting. I will destroy the proofs." "Beate!"