With calm demeanor, Moritz now approached Fran von Werrig, demanding her pardon, saying: “You see, madame, that I am not so unwelcome here, therefore you will be obliged to let me remain.”
“Yes, that she will,” sneered Trude, outside the door. “It will be difficult for her to send him off so long as I am unwilling.”
“No, I will not permit it. We have nothing to do with each other. Out of my sight!—Away!”
“Away!” cried the general. “Oh, the gout, the maddening pains! I cannot throw the bold fellow out of the house! I must lie here, and writhe like a worm! I cannot be master of my house. Oh, oh! what pain!”
“Stay, Philip,” whispered Marie, as she again leaned toward Moritz. “They wish to sell me and force me to a hated marriage. Do not yield! save me!”
“You are mine, Marie; you have sworn to me eternal constancy, and no one can compel you to marry if you do not wish to.”
“We are her parents; we can, and we will compel her,” triumphantly cried Frau von Werrig. “The king has given his consent, and if it is necessary we will drag her to the altar by force!”
“Do it, mother, and I will say no before all the world.”
“We will take care that no one hears you but the priest, and he will not listen, as he knows that the king has commanded you to say yes!”
“But God will hear her, Frau von Werrig, and He will take vengeance on the cruel, heartless mother.”