MARY.
I am going with you. You insist upon your right, and I upon mine, and that is, that I must not leave you. Father, I feel now for the first time that I love no one in the world as much as you. Tomorrow we go together—if you must go. I am going to put on William's clothes. There are still green forests in the world. And surely you shall not hear me complaining. Don't be afraid of that. Why, I can cry during the nights, when you don't see it. But then you will see it by my eyes in the daytime. Why, I must not cry at all! I will only laugh and skip along before you and sing—the beautiful hunting songs.—You see, father, this is the last tear for Robert! And it is already dried, do you see? I am sure that we shall still find happiness in this world—if you must go, father. And if it is not to be, we will thank God and pray, if He only keeps us honest. Then we will think: It is asking too much, if we also wish to be happy. Have I not you? Have not you your good conscience and your Mary? What more do we need?
[Hanging on his neck.]
FORESTER (who has been warding her off constantly, almost furious, because he can scarcely control his emotion).
Indeed, indeed! Stupid thing!
[More calmly.]
And a "table—spread—thyself," a "gold—mule—stretch-thyself," and the fairy-story is complete. Now go to bed, Mary.
[Roughly.]
Do you hear?