"Is it you, father?"
"Yes, it is I," he answered, entering the room and cautiously locking the door behind him.
"Thank heaven that you are here, father!" she sighed, with an air of relief.
"What?" he asked, smiling, "has my Leonore again become so affectionate a daughter that she is anxious about her father if he is suddenly called away at night? For you have been anxious about me—about me and no one else—have you not?"
"No, not for you," she cried impetuously, "for him, for him alone. Tell me that he is not in danger, that he has nothing to do with the matter on whose account you were so suddenly called away!"
"I swear it, Leonore. But, my child, the impetuosity of your passion is beginning to make me uneasy. How will you keep your head clear, if your heart is burning with such impetuous fire that the rising smoke must becloud your brain? I have allowed you to give yourself the amusement of love, but you must not make a serious life question of it."
"Yet I shall either perish of this love or be new-born by it," she murmured. "But let us not talk about it. Tell me first why you left the ball so suddenly?"
"Urgent business, my child. The emperor sent for me to come to Schönbrunn."
"The emperor! What did he want of you?"
"There is something to be discovered, Leonore—a murderer who seeks the emperor's life."