On the other hand the poet Schöner prepared one slight pleasure for her; he who belonged to her warmest admirers, and two years ago had striven eagerly to gain her favour, but who had been rejected. For a long time he avoided all intercourse with her, but without bearing any ill-will remained one of her most zealous adorers. Now, when her enemies roused themselves, he sought her out again, and, like a troubadour, devoted his lyre to the noble lady. He read a poem to her, in which he sang of her as the _primavera_ of Baltic winter, and at the same time attacked her opponents with epigrammatic arrows, and those mighty blows which he had acquired in the fencing-school of political poetry. The poem appeared in the most important papers, and again increased the diminishing numbers of Giulia's followers. She was heartily grateful to him for it, because she perceived that his thoughts were noble and free from personal motives, that he but followed his own convictions. The more retiringly Schöner behaved, the more obtrusive became Lieutenant Buschmann; he could not accustom himself to the idea that he must retire from so long a siege without success. The uniform friendliness of the singer seemed to him like scorn; from day to day he hoped for a more passionate return. Constantly renewed disappointment embittered him. His character was somewhat violent, he tolerated no barriers, and once when the singer, through her maid, refused him admittance on a morning call, he forced himself ruthlessly into her boudoir, and reproached her passionately. It was the day after his visit to Frau Hecht's kitchen, when Blanden met the Italian again in the street. Arrested on the previous evening, Baluzzi was once more set free. Blanden took advantage of this chance encounter to lead the conversation to the amber merchant. Giulia only vouchsafed meagre information; he was a distant connection of hers, who often importuned her with petitions, as he had once performed some great service out of gratitude for which she had taken him under her protection. Then she broke off the conversation, it was evidently an unwelcome subject. But she remained abstracted all the evening, and even confounded two Italian composers with whom she had been familiar from her youth upwards. After a sleepless night, Giulia had a long conversation with her friend. "It cannot go on so, Beate! The internal conflict consumes me. His claims become more and more unbounded; how happy I was when he, fettered by illness or misfortune of long duration, the veil of which he will not raise, remained in the interior of Russia; I breathed freely; now more than ever, I am in his bondage." Beate shrugged her shoulders. "Notwithstanding all your brilliant receipts, we shall be beggars again." "Oh, that is not the worst! I would give up everything if I could purchase my freedom!" "That is not his wish! He would spend everything at once; he also prefers to have a safe reserve for the future."