Her Highness's behaviour roughened as soon as the place was clear of
company. She spoke at my father impetuously, with manifest scorn and
reproach, struck her silver-mounted stick on the carriage panels, again
and again stamped her foot, lifting a most variable emphatic countenance.
Princess Ottilia tried to intercede. The margravine clenched her hands,
and, to one not understanding her speech, appeared literally to blow the
little lady off with the breath of her mouth. Her whole bearing
consisted of volleys of abuse, closed by magisterial interrogations.
Temple compared her Highness's language to the running out of Captain
Welsh's chaincable, and my father's replies to the hauling in: his
sentences were short, they sounded like manful protestations; I barely
noticed them. Temple's version of it went: 'And there was your father
apologizing, and the margravine rating him,' etc. My father, as it
happened, was careful not to open his lips wide on account of the
plaster, or thick coating of paint on his face. No one would have
supposed that he was burning with indignation; the fact being, that to
give vent to it, he would have had to exercise his muscular strength; he
was plastered and painted from head to foot. The fixture of his wig and
hat, too, constrained his skin, so that his looks were no index of his
feelings. I longed gloomily for the moment to come when he would present
himself to me in his natural form. He was not sensible of the touch of
my hand, nor I of his. There we had to stand until the voluble portion
of the margravine's anger came to an end. She shut her eyes and bowed
curtly to our salute.

'You have seen the last of me, madam,' my father said to her whirling
carriage-wheels.

He tried to shake, and strained in his ponderous garments. Temple gazed
abashed. I knew not how to act. My father kept lifting his knees on the