the grand master of the Order, with the assembled
chapter of knights.

Clara. Oh, thou mightest let the whole world sit in judgment over thee.
The velvet is too splendid! and the braiding! and the embroidery! One
knows not where to begin.

Egmont. There, look thy fill.

Clara. And the Golden Fleece! You told me its history, and said it is
the symbol of everything great and precious, of everything that can be
merited and won by diligence and toil. It is very precious--I may liken
it to thy love;--even so I wear it next my heart;--and then--

Egmont. What wilt thou say?

Clara. And then again it is not like.

Egmont. How so?

Clara. I have not won it by diligence and toil, I have not deserved it.

Egmont. It is otherwise in love. Thou dost deserve it because thou hast
not sought it--and, for the most part, those only obtain love who seek
it not.

Clara. Is it from thine own experience that thou hast learned this?
Didst thou make that proud remark in reference to thyself? Thou, whom
all the people love?

Egmont. Would that I had done something for them! That I could do
anything for them! It is their own good pleasure to love me.

Clara. Thou hast doubtless been with the Regent to-day?

Egmont. I have.

Clara. Art thou upon good terms with her?

Egmont So it would appear. We are kind and serviceable to each other.

Clara. And in thy heart?

Egmont. I like her. True, we have each our own views; but that is
nothing to the purpose. She is an excellent woman, knows with whom
she has to deal, and would be penetrating enough were she not quite
so suspicious. I give her plenty of employment, because she is always
suspecting some secret motive in my conduct when, in fact, I have none.

Clara. Really none?

Egmont. Well, with one little exception, perhaps. All wine deposits lees
in the cask in the course of time. Orange furnishes her still better
entertainment, and is a perpetual riddle. He has got the credit of
harbouring some secret design; and she studies his brow to discover his
thoughts, and his steps, to learn in what direction they are bent.

Clara. Does she dissemble?

Egmont. She is Regent--and do you ask?

Clara. Pardon me; I meant to say, is she false?

Egmont. Neither more nor less than everyone who has his own objects to
attain.

Clara. I should never feel at home in the world. But she has a
masculine spirit, and is another sort of woman from us housewives and
sempstresses. She is great, s