THE PRINCESS. But I am—[She, too, looks through the telescope.] Actually, there is the garden as plain as if one were in it.
STRÜBEL. And at the corner window on the left—with the embroidery-frame—that's she.
THE PRINCESS. Are you absolutely certain that that is the princess?
STRÜBEL. Why, who else could it be?
THE PRINCESS. Oh, 'round about a princess like that—there are such a lot of people. For instance, there is her waiting-woman, there's the seamstress and her assistants, there's——
STRÜBEL. But, my dear young lady, if you only understood anything about these matters, you would have been certain at the very first glance that it was she—and no one else. Observe the nobility in every motion—the queenly grace with which she bends over the embroidery-frame——
THE PRINCESS. How do you know that it's an embroidery-frame?
STRÜBEL. Why, what should a princess be bending over if not an embroidery-frame? Do you expect her to be darning stockings?
THE PRINCESS. It wouldn't hurt her at all!
STRÜBEL. Now, that's just one of those petty, bourgeois notions which we ought to suppress. It's not enough that we have to stick in this misery, but we'd like to drag her down, too—that being far above all earthly care——