I did not know it till I had reached the porch, where I felt my hand seized--by him. Shame compelled me to stop; as an effort to extricate myself would have attracted the attention of every one who was passing. This was the only reflection of which I was capable, or which I at present remember. He spoke, and I replied--but what he said, or what I replied, I know not.--Should I recollect it, my dear mother, you shall hear it. At present I remember nothing further. My senses had forsaken me.--In vain do I endeavour to recollect how I got away from him, and escaped from the porch. I found myself in the street--I heard his steps behind me--I heard him follow me into the house, and pursue me up the stairs---- CLAUDIA. Fear has its peculiar faculty, my daughter. Never shall I forget the look with which you rushed into this room!--No. He dared not follow you so far.--Heavens! had your father known this!--How angry was he when I merely told him that the Prince had lately beheld you with admiration! Be at ease, however, my dear girl. Fancy what has happened to be a mere dream. The result will be less, even, than a dream. You will be assured to-day from all similar designs. EMILIA. No, mother! The Count must know it--to him I must relate it. CLAUDIA. Not for the world. Wherefore? Why? Do you wish to make him uneasy without a cause? And granting that he may not become so at present--know, my child, the poison which does not operate immediately, is not on that account less dangerous. That which has no effect upon the lover, may produce a serious one upon the husband. The lover might even be flattered at winning the prize from so great a rival; but when he has won it--alas, my dear Emilia, the lover often becomes quite another being. Heaven preserve you from such experience! EMILIA. You know, dear mother, how willingly I ever submit to your superior judgment. But should he learn from another that the Prince spoke to me to-day, would not my silence sooner or later increase his uneasiness?--I think it would be better not to conceal anything from him. CLAUDIA. Weakness--a fond weakness. No, on no account, my daughter! Tell him nothing. Let him observe nothing. EMILIA. I submit. I have no will, dear mother, opposed to yours. Ah! (_sighing deeply_), I shall soon be well again. What a silly, timid thing I am! am I not, mother? I might have conducted myself otherwise, and should, perhaps, have compromised myself just a little. CLAUDIA.