Clara (rising, and speaking coldly). A castaway! The beloved of Egmont a
castaway!--What princess would not envy the poor Clara a place in his
heart? Oh, Mother,--my own Mother, you were not wont to speak thus!
Dear Mother, be kind!--Let the people think, let the neighbours whisper
what they like--this chamber, this lowly house is a paradise, since
Egmont's love dwelt here.

Mother. One cannot help liking him, that is true. He is always so kind,
frank, and open-hearted.

Clara. There is not a drop of false blood in his veins. And then, Mother, he
is indeed the great Egmont; yet, when he comes to me, how tender he is,
how kind! How he tries to conceal from me his rank, his bravery! How
anxious he is about me! so entirely the man, the friend, the lover.

Mother. DO you expect him to-day?

Clara. Have you not seen how often I go to the window? Have you not
noticed how I listen to every noise at the door?--Though I know that he
will not come before night, yet, from the time when I rise in the morning, I
keep expecting him every moment. Were I but a boy, to follow him
always, to the court and everywhere! Could I but carry his colours in the
field!--

Mother. You were always such a lively, restless creature; even as a little
child, now wild, now thoughtful. Will you not dress yourself a little
better?

Clara. Perhaps, Mother, if I want something to do.--Yesterday, some of his