SCENE III.
The Antichamber.
Enter Mrs. Haller.
Mrs. H. What has thus alarmed and subdued me? My tears flow; my heart bleeds. Already had I apparently overcome my chagrin: already had I at least assumed that easy gaiety once so natural to me, when the sight of this child in an instant overpowered me. When the Countess called him William—Oh! she knew not that she plunged a poniard in my heart. I have a William too, who must be as tall as this, if he be still alive. Ah! yes, if he be still alive. His little sister too! Why, fancy, dost thou rack me thus? Why dost thou image my poor children, fainting in sickness, and crying to their mother? To the mother who has abandoned them? [Weeps.] What a wretched outcast am I! And that just to-day I should be doomed to feel these horrible emotions! just to-day, when disguise was so necessary.
Enter Charlotte.
Char. [Entering.] Very pretty, very pretty indeed; better send me to the garret at once. Your servant, Mrs. Haller. I beg, madam, I may have a room fit for a respectable person.
Mrs. H. The chamber into which you have been shown is, I think, a very neat one.
Char. A very neat one, is it? Up the back stairs, and over the laundry! I should never be able to close my eyes.
Mrs. H. [Very mildly.] I slept there a whole year.