AGATHA.
No—he married.
FREDERICK.
Married!
AGATHA.
A woman of virtue—of noble birth and immense fortune. Yet, [weeps] I had written to him many times; had described your infant innocence and wants; had glanced obliquely at former promises—
FREDERICK.
[rapidly]. No answer to these letters?
AGATHA.
Not a word.—But in time of war, you know, letters miscarry.
FREDERICK.
Nor did he ever return to this estate?
AGATHA.
No—since the death of his mother this castle has only been inhabited by servants—for he settled as far off as Alsace, upon the estate of his wife.
FREDERICK.
I will carry you in my arms to Alsace. No—why should I ever know my father, if he is a villain! My heart is satisfied with a mother.—No—I will not go to him. I will not disturb his peace—I leave that task to his conscience. What say you, mother, can’t we do without him? [Struggling between tears and his pride.] We don’t want him. I will write directly to my captain. Let the consequence be what it will, leave you again I cannot. Should I be able to get my discharge, I will work all day at the plough, and all the night with my pen. It will do, mother, it will do! Heaven’s goodness will assist me—it will prosper the endeavours of a dutiful son for the sake of a helpless mother.
AGATHA.
[presses him to her breast]. Where could be found such another son?
FREDERICK.
But tell me my father’s name, that I may know how to shun him.