Did I begin
The themes, or you?
The Maiden.
But I dwelt on the sin,
And you—
The Lady.
Upon the good. Did I not well?
I gave you good for evil, mademoiselle.
The Maiden.
Forgive me, lady, but I cannot jest,
I bear too anxious heart within my breast;
One dear to me lies wounded, and I go
To find him, help him home with tender care—
To home and health, God willing.
The Lady.
Is it so?
Strange—but ah! no. The wounded are not rare,
Nor yet the grief, in this heart-rending war.—
But he will yet recover; I feel sure
That one beloved by heart so good, so pure
As yours, will not be taken. Sweet, your star
Is fortunate.