Trude trembled, but composed herself, saying, “There is time enough to-morrow. Fraulein has been asleep a long time.”
“She lies,” sneered Leberecht, taking the precaution to protect himself behind the general’s arm-chair. “She knows that she is not in bed.”
“Oh, you sneak, you rascal,” cried Trude, shaking her fist at him, “how dare you say that I tell a lie? How can such a miserable creature as you impute to others what you do yourself every time that you open your mouth?”
“Frau von Werrig, she is only quarrelling, in order to gain time—every moment is precious. I beg you to go up-stairs, and see for yourself, if your daughter is there.”
“Fraulein has locked the door so as not to be disturbed.”
“Ah,” said Leberecht, “Trude has locked it, and has the key in her pocket.”
“Give up the key,” shrieked the general, who in vain tried to rise, “or I will call the police, and send you to prison.”
“Do it, but I will not give it to you.”
“Do you not see she has it?” cried Leberecht.
“Oh, you wretch, I will pay you—I will scratch your eyes out, you miserable creature!”