MR. ANHALT. Why private? However, I will venture to take you for a short time from this place, and introduce you; depending on your innocence, or your repentance—on his conviction in your favour, or his mercy towards your guilt. Follow me. [_Exit._ FREDERICK. [_following_]. I have beheld an affectionate parent in deep adversity.—Why should I tremble thus?—Why doubt my fortitude, in the presence of an unnatural parent in prosperity? [_Exit._ SCENE II. _A Room in the Castle._ _Enter_ BARON WILDENHAIM _and_ AMELIA. BARON. I hope you will judge more favourably of Count Cassel’s understanding since the private interview you have had with him. Confess to me the exact effect of the long conference between you. AMELIA. To make me hate him. BARON. What has he done? AMELIA. Oh! told me of such barbarous deeds he has committed. BARON. What deeds? AMELIA. Made vows of love to so many women, that, on his marriage with me, a hundred female hearts will at least be broken. BARON. Psha! do you believe him? AMELIA. Suppose I do not; is it to his honour that I believe he tells a falsehood? BARON. He is mistaken merely. AMELIA. Indeed, my Lord, in one respect I am sure he speaks truth. For our old Butler told my waiting-maid of a poor young creature who has been deceived, undone; and she, and her whole family, involved in shame and sorrow by his perfidy. BARON. Are you sure the Butler said this? AMELIA. See him and ask him. He knows the whole story, indeed he does; the names of the persons, and every circumstance. BARON. Desire he may be sent to me. AMELIA. [_goes to the door and calls_]. Order old Verdun to come to the Baron directly. BARON. I know tale-bearers are apt to be erroneous. I’ll hear from himself, the account you speak of. AMELIA. I believe it is in verse. BARON. [_angry_]. In verse! AMELIA. But, then, indeed it’s true. _Enter_ BUTLER. AMELIA. Verdun, pray have not you some true poetry? BUTLER. All my poetry is true—and so far, better than some people’s prose. BARON. But I want prose on this occasion, and command you to give me nothing else. [Butler _bows_.] Have you heard of an engagement which Count Cassel is under to any other woman than my daughter? BUTLER. I am to tell your honour in prose? BARON. Certainly. [Butler _appears uneasy and loath to speak._] Amelia, he does not like to divulge what he knows in presence of a third person—leave the room. [_Exit_ Amelia. BUTLER. No, no—that did not cause my reluctance to speak. BARON. What then? BUTLER. Your not allowing me to speak in verse—for here is the poetic poem. [_Holding up a paper_.] BARON. How dare you presume to contend with my will? Tell in plain language all you know on the subject I have named. BUTLER. Well, then, my Lord, if you must have the account in quiet prose, thus it was—Phœbus, one morning, rose in the East, and having handed in the long-expected day, he called up his brother Hymen—— BARON. Have done with your rhapsody.