Wendla.
(At the same time.)
He holds a bedslat under his chin and fiddles “Die Wacht am Rhein” on it——there, he's just turned the corner.——
Frau Bergmann.
You are, and always will be a foolish child!——To frighten your old simple mother that way!——Go get your hat! I wonder when you will understand things. I've given up hope of you.
Wendla.
So have I, Mother dear, so have I. It's a sad thing about my understanding.——I have a sister who has been married for two and a half years, I myself have been made an aunt for the third time, and I haven't the least idea how it all comes about.——Don't be cross, Mother dear, don't be cross! Whom in the world should I ask but you! Please tell me, dear Mother! Tell me, dear Mother! I'm ashamed for myself. Please, Mother, speak! Don't scold me for asking you about it. Give me an answer——How does it happen?——How does it all come about?——You cannot really deceive yourself that I, who am fourteen years old, still believe in the stork.
Frau Bergmann.
Good. Lord, child, but you are peculiar!——What ideas you have!——I really can't do that!
Wendla.