here indeed!       

         Egmont. Good evening, Mother?       

         Mother. God save you, noble sir! My daughter has well-nigh pined to death, because you have stayed away so long; she talks and sings about you the live-long day.       

         Egmont. You will give me some supper?       

         Mother. You do us too much honour. If we only had anything—       

         Clara. Certainly! Be quiet, Mother; I have provided everything; there is something prepared. Do not betray me, Mother.       

         Mother. There's little enough.       

         Clara. Never mind! And then I think when he is with me I am never hungry; so he cannot, I should think, have any great appetite when I am with him.       

         Egmont. Do you think so? (Clara stamps with her foot and turns pettishly away.) What ails you?       

         Clara. How cold you are to-day! You have not yet offered me a kiss. Why do you keep your arms enveloped in your mantle, like a new-born babe? It becomes neither a soldier nor a lover to keep his arms muffled up.       

         Egmont. Sometimes, dearest, sometimes. When the soldier stands in ambush and would delude the foe, he collects his thoughts, gathers his mantle around him, and matures his plan and a lover—       

         Mother. Will you not take a seat, and make yourself comfortable? I must to the kitchen, Clara thinks of nothing when you are here. You must put up with what we have.       

         Egmont. Your good-will is the best seasoning.       

         [Exit Mother.       

         Clara. And what then is my love?       

         Egmont. Just what thou wilt.       

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