ACT I.


SCENE I.--Franconia.

Apartment in the Castle of COUNT MOOR.

FRANCIS, OLD MOOR.


FRANCIS. But are you really well, father? You look so pale.

OLD MOOR. Quite well, my son--what have you to tell me?

FRANCIS. The post is arrived--a letter from our correspondent at
Leipsic.

OLD M. (eagerly). Any tidings of my son Charles?

FRANCIS. Hem! Hem!--Why, yes. But I fear--I know not--whether I dare
--your health.--Are you really quite well, father?

OLD M. As a fish in water.* Does he write of my son? What means this
anxiety about my health? You have asked me that question twice.

[*This is equivalent to our English saying "As sound as a roach."]

FRANCIS. If you are unwell--or are the least apprehensive of being so--
permit me to defer--I will speak to you at a fitter season.--(Half
aside.) These are no tidings for a feeble frame.