Countess. Here is the lute.
Thekla. My God! how can I— 60
[The orchestra plays. During the ritornello Thekla expresses in her gestures and countenance the struggle of her feelings: and at the moment that she should begin to sing, contracts herself together, as one shuddering, throws the instrument down, and retires abruptly.
Duchess. My child! O she is ill—
Wallenstein. What ails the maiden?
Say, is she often so?
Countess. Since then herself
Has now betrayed it, I too must no longer
Conceal it.
Wallenstein. What?
Countess. She loves him!
Wallenstein. Loves him! Whom?
Countess. Max does she love! Max Piccolomini. 65
Hast thou ne'er noticed it? Nor yet my sister?