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 opinion and cease your tutoring, once
for all. This fault-finding, this warning vexes me. It spoils my
pleasure, it clouds my fancy. You are poisoning my happiness,
you--you . . . the croaker's voice is disagreeable to me."

Isabella sadly bent her head in silence. Ulrich approached her, saying:

"I do not wish to wound you, Belita; indeed, I do not. You mean well, and
you love me, a poor forsaken fellow; do you not, little girl?"

"Yes, Ulrich, and that is just why I have told you what I think. You are
rejoicing now in the thought of Italy. . . ."

"Very, very much, unspeakably! There, too, I will remember you, and what
a dear, faithful, wise little creature you are. Let us part in
friendship, Isabella. Come with me; that would be the best way!"

The young girl flushed deeply, and made no answer except: "How gladly I
would!"

The words sounded so affectionate and came so tenderly from the inmost
depths of the heart, that they en