WALLENSTEIN (steps to her, raising her up in his arms).
Come, cheer'ly, Thekla! be my own brave girl!
See, there's thy loving mother. Thou art in
Thy father's arms.
THEKLA (standing up).
Where is he? Is he gone?
DUCHESS.
Who gone, my daughter?
THEKLA.
He—the man who utter'd
That word of misery.
DUCHESS.
O! think not of it,
My Thekla!