Egmont. I like her. True, we have each our own views; but that is nothing to the purpose. She is an excellent woman, knows with whom she has to deal, and would be penetrating enough were she not quite so suspicious. I give her plenty of employment, because she is always suspecting some secret motive in my conduct when, in fact, I have none.
Clara. Really none?
Egmont. Well, with one little exception, perhaps. All wine deposits lees in the cask in the course of time. Orange furnishes her still better entertainment, and is a perpetual riddle. He has got the credit of harbouring some secret design; and she studies his brow to discover his thoughts, and his steps, to learn in what direction they are bent.
Clara. Does she dissemble?
Egmont. She is Regent—and do you ask?
Clara. Pardon me; I meant to say, is she false?
Egmont. Neither more nor less than everyone who has his own objects to attain.
Clara. I should never feel at home in the world. But she has a masculine spirit, and is another sort of woman from us housewives and sempstresses. She is great, steadfast, resolute.
Egmont. Yes, when matters are not too much involved. For once, however, she is a little disconcerted.
Clara. How so?