I am not sure that the conclusion would have been so satisfactory, if I had undertaken to persuade Beatrice.

She is headstrong and capricious, and so painfully energetic! Every discussion with her shortens my life by a year." "She is an angel in her caprice," answered the Count with conviction.
"Indeed, much of her charm lies in her changing moods." "If she is an angel, what am I ?" asked the Marchesa.

"Such a contrast!" "She is the angel of motion--you are the angel of repose." "You are delightful to-night." While this conversation was taking place, Beatrice had wandered away over the rocks alone, not heeding the unevenness of the stones and taking little notice of the direction of her walk.

She only knew that she would not go back to the place where she had sat, not for all the world.

A change had taken place already and she was angry with herself for what she had done in all sincerity.
She was hurt and her first illusion had suffered a grave shock almost at the moment of its birth.