"Can you not cease from seeking a stab in every word?" asked Reinhold, angrily. "I see we do not understand each other again to-day. Adieu!"
"You are going!" cried the Italian, half-frightened, half-threateningly. "And with this farewell for a separation of weeks!"
Reinhold, who was already at the door, thought a moment and turned slowly round.
"Ah, yes; I forgot the departure. Farewell, Beatrice!"
But he was not permitted to make his farewell so easily. Signora Biancona had long since learned not to defy for any time the man who now understood how to bend her otherwise capricious will to his own, and when he again drew near to her all farther opposition was at an end. Her voice trembled as she asked softly, "And you will really go alone, without me?"
"Beatrice--"
"Alone, without me?" repeated she, more passionately. Reinhold made an attempt to withdraw his hand from her, but it remained only an attempt.
"Cesario expects me positively," he said, deprecatingly, "and I have already explained that you cannot accompany me--"
"Not to Mirando," interrupted Beatrice, "I know that. But what prevents my altering the original plan, and making my first summer stay in S---- instead of in the mountains, the great resort of all strangers? It is near enough to Mirando, half-an-hour by boat would bring you across to me. If I were to follow you--may I, Rinaldo?"
This tone of flattering entreaty was irresistible, and her glance begged still more. Reinhold looked down silently at the beautiful woman, the possession of whose love once appeared to him the highest prize of happiness. The magic still exercised its old power, and exercised it now most strongly when he was attempting to escape from it. The concession was not made in words, but Beatrice saw, as he bent towards her, that she had conquered this time. When he really left her, half-an-hour later, the change in the plan of her journey was quite decided upon, and their farewell was not for a separation of weeks, but only of days.