th could not help pleasing everyone. Her
head now reached only to Ulrich's breast, and if he had always treated
her like a dear, sensible, clever child, her small stature had certainly
been somewhat to blame for it. To-day she was paler than usual and her
features were so grave, that the young man asked her in surprise, yet
full of sympathy:

"What is the matter, little one? Are you not well?"

"Yes, yes," she answered, quickly, "only I must talk with you once more
alone."

"Do you wish to hear my confession, Belita?"

"Cease jesting now. I am no longer a child. My heart aches, and I must
not conceal the cause."

"Speak, speak! How you look! One might really be alarmed."

"If I only can! No one here tells you the truth; but I--I love you; so I
will do it, ere it is too late. Don't interrupt me now, or I shall lose
courage, and I will, I must speak."

"My studies lately have not pleased you; nor me either. Your father...."

"He has led you in false paths, and now you are going to Italy, and when
you see what the greatest artists have created, you will wish to imitate
them immediately and forget Meister Moor's lessons. I know you, Ulrich,
I know it! But I also know something else, and it must now be said
frankly. If you allow yourself to be led on to paint pictures, if you do
not submit to again become a modest pupil, and honestly torment
yourself with studying, you will make no progress, you will never
again accomplish a portrait like the one in the old days, like your
Sophonisba. You will then be no great artist and you can, you must
become one."

"I will, Belita, I will!"

"Well, well; but first be a pupil! If I were in your place, I would,
for aught I care, go to Venice and look about me, but from there I would
ride to Flanders, to Moor, to the master."

"Give up Italy? Can you be in earnest? Your father, himself, told me,
that I... well, yes... in portrait-painting, he too thinks I am no
blunderer. Where do the Netherlanders go to learn anything new? To
Italy, always to Italy! What do they create in Flanders? Portraits,
portraits, nothing more. Moor is great, very great in this department,
but I take a very different view of art; it has higher aims. My head is
full of plans. Wait, only wait! In Italy I shall learn to fly, and when
I have finished my Holy Family and my Temple of Art, with all the skill
I intend to attain...."

"Then, then, what will happen then?"

"Then you will perhaps change your op