ed back.

Startled, sobered, confused, Ulrich sought for words, and at last
stammered:

"We have, we wanted... the farewell.... Coello found no time to
interrupt him, for his daughter had thrown herself on his breast,
exclaiming amid tears:

"Forgive us, father-forgive us; he loves me, and I, I love him so
dearly, and now that we belong to each other, I am no longer anxious
about him, he will not rest, and when he returns...."

"Enough, enough!" interrupted Coello, pressing his hand upon her mouth.
"That is why a duenna is kept for the child; and this is my sensible
Belita! It is of no importance, that yonder youth has nothing, I myself
courted your mother with only three reales in my pocket, but he cannot
yet do any really good work, and that alters the case. It is not my way
to dun debtors, I have been in debt too often myself for that; but you,
Navarrete, have received many favors from me, when you were badly off,
and if you are not a scamp, leave the girl in peace and do not see her
again before your departure. When you have studied in Italy and become
a real artist, the rest will take care of itself. You are already a
handsome, well-formed fellow, and my race will not degenerate in you.
There are very different women in Italy, from this dear little creature
here. Shut your eyes, and beware of breaking her heart. Your promise!
Your hand upon it! In a year and a half from to-day come here again,
show what you can do, and stand the test. If you have become what I
hope, I'll give her to you; if not, you can quietly go your way. You
will make no objection to this, you silly little, love-sick thing. Go to
your room now, Belita, and you, Navarrete, come with me."

Ulrich followed the artist to his chamber, where the latter opened a
chest, in which lay the gold he had earned. He did not know himself, how
much it was, for it was neither counted, nor entered in books. Grasping
the ducats, he gave Ulrich two handfuls, exclaiming:

"This one is for your work here, the other to relieve you from any care
concerning means of living, while pursuing your studies in Venice and
Florence. Don't make the child wretched, my lad; if you do, you will
be a contemptible, dishonorable rascal, a scoundrel, a... but you don't
look like a rogue!"

There was a great deal of bustle in Coello's house that evening. The
artist's indolent wife was unusually animated. She could not control her
surprise and wrath. Isabella had been from childho