"Very well, monsieur; can she come in?"
"One moment. Madame dines at home. I dine out, at Herr von Wallbach's--the carriage for me at half-past five. Let madame know, and that at a quarter-past five I will come and take leave of her. Has Signor Antonio been here in the course of the day?"
"No, monsieur."
"No one else is to be admitted. Let the lady come in." Giraldi did not get up as the lady entered, and now only gave her a sign to take a place near him at the writing-table.
"I was expecting you. How are we getting on?"
"No better than on the first day."
"That is bad."
"It is very wearisome," said Bertalda, throwing back her veil, "very wearisome. I have come to tell you so; I am sick of the whole thing." She lay back in her chair, with a look of ill-humour, knocking the tips of her boots against each other.
"Bah!" said Giraldi, "how much do you want?" and he stretched out his hand to a casket which stood before him on the table.
"I want nothing," said Bertalda. "I told you at once, the first time you sought me out, that I only did it out of pity for poor Werben, and because I have a weakness for him, and because I wish to annoy that fine Philip, who behaved so abominably to Victorine, and I wish from my heart that his sister should be no better."