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 people went by, singing songs in honour. At least his name was in
the songs! The rest I could not understand. My heart leaped up into my
throat,--I would fain have called them back if I had not felt ashamed.

Mother. Take care! Thy impetuous nature will ruin all. Thou wilt betray
thyself before the people; as, not long ago, at thy cousin's, when thou
roundest out the woodcut with the description, and didst exclaim, with a
cry: "Count Egmont!"--I grew as red as fire.

Clara. Could I help crying out? It was the battle of Gravelines, and
I found in the picture the letter C. and then looked for it in the
description below. There it stood, "Count Egmont, with his horse shot
under him." I shuddered, and afterwards I could not help laughing at
the woodcut figure of Egmont, as tall as the neighbouring tower of
Gravelines, and the English ships at the side.--When I remember how
I used to conceive of a battle, and what an idea I had, as a girl, of
Count Egmont; when I listened to descriptions of him, and of all the
other earls and princes;--and think how it is with me now!

[Enter Brackenburg.

Clara. Well, what is going on?

Brackenburg. Nothing certain is known. It is rumoured that an
insurrection has lately broken out in Flanders; the Regent is afraid of
its spreading here. The castle is strongly garrisoned, the burghers are
crowding to the gates, and the streets are thronged with people. I will
hasten at once to my old father. (As if about to go.)

Clara. Shall we see you to-morrow? I must change my dress a little. I
am expecting my cousin, and I look too untidy. Come, Mother, help me a
moment. Take the book, Brackenburg, and bring me such another story.

Mother. Farewell.

Brackenburg (extending his hand). Your hand.

Clara (refusing hers). When