You shall see him too.
What does it matter?
We have both loved, we are both unhappy--we shall never meet again." "What is it ?" Unorna tried to ask, holding the closed case in her hands.

She knew what was within it well enough, and her self-command was forsaking her.

It was almost more than she could bear.

It was as though Beatrice were wreaking vengeance on her, instead of her destroying her rival as she had meant to do, sooner or later.
Beatrice took the thing from her, opened it, gazed at it a moment, and put it again into Unorna's hands.

"It was like him," she said, watching her companion as though to see what effect the portrait would produce.
Then she shrank back.
Unorna was looking at her.