Princess Ottilia tried to intercede.

The margravine clenched her hands, and, to one not understanding her speech, appeared literally to blow the little lady off with the breath of her mouth.
Her whole bearing consisted of volleys of abuse, closed by magisterial interrogations.

Temple compared her Highness's language to the running out of Captain Welsh's chaincable, and my father's replies to the hauling in: his sentences were short, they sounded like manful protestations; I barely noticed them.

Temple's version of it went: 'And there was your father apologizing, and the margravine rating him,' etc.
My father, as it happened, was careful not to open his lips wide on account of the plaster, or thick coating of paint on his face.

No one would have supposed that he was burning with indignation; the fact being, that to give vent to it, he would have had to exercise his muscular strength; he was plastered and painted from head to foot.