"Oh, do not look at me so fiercely! Your kindling eyes pierce my soul until I cannot help blushing. You do not know how terribly your glances flash. I do not fear you, but a strange horror overwhelms me when I see you thus. I feel myself a match for the spirit that darts menacing looks from those eyes, and a shudder thrills my soul as the wind rustles gently through the banners before a battle."
"So you are belligerently disposed towards me, Cornelia?"
"No, indeed; except when you are in your present mood then, I know, I shall often be compelled to uphold my standard against you."
"And what standard might that be?"
"That of gentleness, truth: in one word, virtue," she said, simply and firmly.
"Do you think me destitute of them?"
"Yes. Understand me correctly. You have a multitude of great and lovable qualities which distinguish you from the million,--a multitude of virtues, but not the virtue which we designate by one word, and in an indivisible sense. A person may not possess nearly as many noble traits, and yet be far more virtuous than you. Virtue is the pure, conscious will which unites the scattered capacities for good, and matures them to moral actions; and this quality you lack."
Ottmar had become very grave. Henri was present no longer: Heinrich had taken his place. Cornelia laid her head upon his hands, and said, in a tone of the fondest affection: "Now you are so quiet and cold, have I vexed you?"
"No, my child; but you have given me something to think about, which makes me grave. You women have a wonderful talent for moralizing. Your conscience wishes to make up for the too great indulgence of your hearts, and therefore you are the sternest censors of the man you love."
"We women? Have you said the same thing to other women?"