Panic grips; the maiden is tense
This man could attack; she must have sense
If he menas harm she musn't wait

She slaps his face, once, then twice
He catches her hand on the thrice
"You cannot escape your fate."

There are voices in the hall
They are guests come from the ball
A candle she goes to light

He holds her back, he strokes her locks
Her breath comes quick; on the door someone knocks
He leaps out to the night.

A servant enters; once she bows.
"Your mother wishes to see you now.
Strange, today, she is not distraught."

The maiden puts on a silver shawl
And follows the servant out to the hall
Wondering what her mother sought.