The bell was rung outside.
"I fear nothing more! He comes--it is he!"
With downcast mien Beate announced Lieutenant Buschmann and Herr Böller.
Giulia received her adorers with cold reserve.
Böller, who was as tall as Buschmann, but who, behind the corpulent officer, looked like the latter's shadow, was now one of the Signora's friends most capable of sacrificing himself. After she had rejected his attentions, he had relinquished all hopes of winning her; however, he had vowed to himself to protect and watch over her as much as he possibly could.
He was a young man of principle, noble-hearted and faithful to his duty; but his exterior was not very prepossessing. A figure thin as a lamp-post, grey eyes, a haggard face and a sharply prominent nose; he seemed to be the embodiment of Immanuel Kant's conception of duty.
Lieutenant Buschmann's principles were less firmly planted, but his outward appearance was superior. It was imposing, of great physical size; his features expressed perfect self-complacency, a healthy colour lay upon his cheeks, and confidence of success flashed from his eyes. He was little adapted to stand in the ranks, therefore he was generally ordered upon duties which had nothing in common with the march past on parade.
Far removed from resigning, like his friend Böller, who on that account was his friend, he still went out bent upon conquest; for him the beautiful prima donna was a worthy prize.
She looked favourably upon him because he spoke good Italian, and that had also been the excuse for his first visit. Just as he always connected the useful with the agreeable, so he looked upon his visits to Signora Bollini at the same time as lessons in exercising and improving himself in Italian. Even if his loftier plans were shipwrecked, he should not have spent his time quite uselessly, but to the benefit of his linguistic studies.
Thus he now commenced an Italian conversation with the singer, while Beate imparted to Herr Böller the declaration of war which her friend had thrown to the critic. This cast Böller into a state of great perturbation; already he perceived the mene tekel of Belshazzar written in black and white, and felt every sharply pointed word pierce his own bosom like the stroke of a dagger.