“Then I must go into my grave,” said Barbarina; “there is no other refuge to which, if he truly loves, he cannot follow me.  I, dear madame, cannot, like yourself, move unknown and unregarded through the world.  My fame is the herald which announces my presence in every land, and every city offers me, with bended knee, the keys of her gates and the keys of her heart.  I cannot hide myself.  Nothing is known of the proud and noble family of Cocceji outside of Prussia; but the wide, wide world knows of the Barbarina, and the laurel-wreaths with which I have been crowned in every land have never been desecrated by an unworthy act or an impure thought.  There is nothing in my life of which I repent, nothing for which I blush or am ashamed!  And yet you have dared to reproach me—­you have had the audacity to seek to humiliate me in my own house.”

“You forget with whom you have the honor to speak.”

“You, madame, were the first to forget yourself; I follow your example.  I suppose Madame Cocceji knows and does ever that which is great and right.  I said you had vilified me in my own house, and yet you ask of me an act of magnanimity!  Why should I relinquish your son’s love?”

“Why?  Because there remains even yet, perhaps, a spark of honorable feeling in your bosom.  Because you know that my family will never receive you, but will curse and abhor you, if you dare to entice my son into a marriage.  Because you know that the Prussian nobles, the king himself, are on my side.  The king, signora, no longer favors you; the king has promised us his assistance.  The king will use every means of grace and power to prevent a marriage, which he himself has written to me will cover my son with dishonor!” [Footnote:  Schneider, “History of the Opera in Berlin.”]

“That is false!” cried Barbarina.

“It is true! and it is true that the king, in order to protect the house of Cocceji from this shame, has given my husband authority to arrest my son and cast him into prison, provided my prayers and tears and menaces should be of no avail!  If we fail, we will make use of this authority, and give him over to General Hake. [Footnote:  Ibid.] Think well what you do—­do not drive us to this extremity.  I say there is a point at which even a mother’s love will fail, and the head of our house will act with all the sternness which the law and the king permit.  Go, then, Signora Barbarina—­bow your proud head—­leave Berlin.  Return to your own land.  I repeat to you, do not drive us to extremity!”

Barbarina listened to this with cool and mocking composure.  Not a muscle of her face moved—­she was indeed striking in her majesty and her beauty.  Her imposing bearing, her pallid but clear complexion, her crimson, tightly-compressed lips, her great, fiery eyes, which spoke the scorn and contempt her proud lips disdained to utter, made a picture never to be forgotten.

“Madame,” said she, slowly, emphasizing every word, “you have, indeed, driven me to extremity.  It was not my intention to marry your son.  But your conduct has now made that a point of honor.  Now, madame, I will graciously yield to the passionate entreaties of your son, and I will wed him.”