"Father!" she protested in a husky voice, "I know that I owe you respect. But such calumny cannot be allowed."
"Be quiet, Mitzi," I said gently, "let me do the talking."
And turning to Doblana I declared so firmly that I hardly recognized my own voice:
"Either you will give your consent to Mitzi singing Lady Macbeth, or I will marry her within a month, even against your will if it must be, and I will then be the one master to decide whether she may or may not go on the stage."
My unexpected vigour had a double effect. Doblana gave in, and Mitzi became reconciled with me. I may even say that she never before had loved me so well as she did after that third thunderstorm. And she gave me of her own free will a photograph of hers for which I had long begged in vain.
While she still held it in her hand she asked me:
"So, when we will be married, you will be my absolute master?"
"Yes, Mitzi."
"I will be your property, your thing, all yours?"
"Yes, Mitzi."