"We visit those with whom we wish to speak, and who are trying to evade an interview! I have sent to you twice, signora, and commanded you to come to me, but you have not obeyed!"
"I am accustomed to receive those who wish to see me at my own house," said Barbarina, quietly. "Indeed, madame, I understand your language perhaps but poorly. Is it according to the forms of etiquette to say, 'I have commanded you to come to me?' In my own fair land we give a finer turn to our speech, and we beg for the honor of a visit." As Barbarina said this, she bowed with laughing grace to the proud woman, who gazed at her with suppressed rage.
"This is the second time I have been forced to seek an interview with you."
"The first time, madame, you came with a petition, and I was so happy as to be able to grant your request. May I be equally fortunate to-day! Without doubt you come again as a petitioner," said Barbarina, with the cunning manner of a cat, who purrs while she scratches.
The proud Cocceji was wounded; she frowned sternly, but suppressed her anger. Barbarina was right—she came with a request.
"I called upon you a year ago," said she, "and implored you to cure my son of that wild love which had fallen upon him like the fever of madness—which made him forget his duty, his rank, his parents. I besought you to leave Berlin, and withdraw from his sight that magical beauty which had seduced him."
"And I declared myself ready to grant your petition," interrupted Barbarina. "Yes, I conformed myself to your wishes, and left Berlin, not, however, I confess, to do you a service, but because I did not love your son; and there is nothing more dull and wearisome than to listen to protestations of love that you cannot return. But look you, gracious lady, that is a misfortune that pursues me at every step. I left Berlin to escape this evil, and fled to London, to find there the same old story of a love I could not return. I fled then from London, to escape the danger of becoming the wife of Lord Stuart McKenzie."
"Why did you return to Berlin?" said Madame Cocceji, in an imperious tone.
Barbarina looked up surprised. "Madame," said she, "for that step I am accountable to no one."
"Yes, you are accountable to me!" cried Madame Cocceji, enraged to the utmost by Barbarina's proud composure. "You are accountable to me—me, the mother of Cocceji! You have seduced him by your charms, and driven him to madness. He defies his parents and the anger of his king, and yields himself up to this shameful passion, which covers his family with disgrace."