MR. ANHALT.
His present happiness admits of no addition.
BARON.
Nor does mine—And yet there is another task to perform that will require more fortitude, more courage, than this has done! A trial that!—[bursts into tears]—I cannot prevent them—Let me—let me—A few minutes will bring me to myself—Where is Agatha?
MR. ANHALT.
I will go, and fetch her. [Exit Anhalt at an upper entrance.]
BARON.
Stop! Let me first recover a little. [Walks up and down, sighing bitterly—looks at the door through which Anhalt left the room.] That door she will come from—That was once the dressing-room of my mother—From that door I have seen her come many times—have been delighted with her lovely smiles—How shall I now behold her altered looks! Frederick must be my mediator.—Where is he? Where is my son?—Now I am ready—my heart is prepared to receive her—Haste! haste! Bring her in.
[He looks stedfastly at the door—Anhalt leads on Agatha—The Baron runs and clasps her in his arms—Supported by him, she sinks on a chair which Amelia places in the middle of the stage—The Baron kneels by her side, holding her hand.]
BARON.
Agatha, Agatha, do you know this voice?
AGATHA.
Wildenhaim.
BARON.
Can you forgive me?
AGATHA.
I forgive you. [embracing him].
FREDERICK.
[as he enters]. I hear the voice of my mother!—Ha! mother! father!