"Well, then, you must retract this promise," replied Beatrice, in the same tone. "You gave it without my knowledge, gave it weeks ago, and then we had already decided to spend our villegiatura in the mountains this year."
"Certainly! And I shall follow you there as soon as I return from Mirando."
"As soon as you return! As if Tortoni would not try every means to chain you there as usual, and if now, in addition, you go in your brother's company, it is a matter of course that you will be kept away from me as long as possible."
Reinhold stopped suddenly, and a dark look was turned towards her.
"Will you not have the goodness to leave this wearisome, exhausted subject at last?" asked he, sharply. "I know already quite well enough that there is no sympathy between you and Hugo; but he, at any rate, spares me any dissertations upon it, and does not require me to share his sympathies and antipathies. Besides, you must allow that he has never been impolite towards you."
Beatrice threw her bouquet aside and rose. "Oh, yes, I allow that, certainly; and it is just this courteousness which annoys me so much. The agreeable conversations, with the everlasting, scornful smile on his lips; the attentions, with contempt in his eyes; that is quite the German manner, from which I suffered so much in your north, which governs and rules us in the so-called circles of society, which knows how to restrain us there, even when fighting ever so bitterly with any one. Your brother understands that perfectly; nothing hits him, nothing wounds him; everything glances off from his everlasting, mocking smile. I--I hate him, and he me not less."
"With difficulty," said Reinhold bitterly, "as you are such a mistress of the art, as few others can be. I have often enough seen that, when you have imagined yourself insulted by anyone. With you it overflows all bounds at once. But this time, you will remember, that it is my brother against whom this hatred is directed, and that through it I am not disposed to let myself be robbed of our first short meeting for years. I shall endure no insult, no attack, upon Hugo."
"Because you love him more than me," cried Beatrice, wildly. "Because I count for nothing beside your brother. To be sure, what am I to you?"
And now the way was opened to a regular flood of reproaches, complaints, and threats, which finally ended in a torrent of tears. All the passion of the Italian broke forth; but Reinhold seemed to be moved to nothing less than concession by it. He attempted to restrain her several times, and as he did not succeed, he stamped furiously with his foot.
"Once more, Beatrice, cease these scenes. You know that you never gain anything with me by them, and I should have thought you had already found by experience that I am not such a slave without a will, that a word or a caprice from you is a command. I shall not put up with these continual exhibitions any longer, which you call forth on every occasion."