'I will see him. I have treated you ill. I have exacted too much
patience. The suspicion was owing to a warning I had this evening,
Harry; a silly warning to beware of snares; and I had no fear of them,
believe me, though for some moments, and without the slightest real
desire to be guarded, I fancied Harry's father was overhearing me. He is
your father, dearest: fetch him to me. My father will hear of this from
my lips--why not he? Ah! did I suspect you ever so little? I will
atone for it; not atone, I will make it my pleasure; it is my pride that
has hurt you both. O my lover! my lover! Dear head, dear eyes!
Delicate and noble that you are! my own stronger soul! Where was my
heart? Is it sometimes dead, or sleeping? But you can touch it to life.
Look at me--I am yours. I consent, I desire it; I will see him. I will
be bound. The heavier the chains, oh! the better for me. What am I, to
be proud of anything not yours, Harry? and I that have passed over to
you! I will see him at once.'

A third in the room cried out, 'No, not that--you do not!'

The tongue was German and struck on us like a roll of unfriendly musketry
before we perceived the enemy. 'Princess Ottilia! you remember your
dignity or I defend you and it, think of me what you will!'

Baroness Turckems, desperately entangled by the sofa-covering, rushed
into the ray of the lamps and laid her hand on the bell-rope. In a
minute we had an alarm sounding, my father was among us, there was a mad
play of chatter, and we stood in the strangest nightmare-light that ever
ended an interview of lovers.