IDA (smiling).
And, because they are sensible, do they not love each other any longer?
ADELAIDE.
How the man feels about it, dear child, I cannot tell you exactly. He wrote the lady a very beautiful letter after the death of her father—that is all I know about it. But the lady has greater confidence than you, for she still hopes. (Earnestly.) Yes, she hopes; and even her father permitted that before he died—you see, she still hopes.
IDA (embracing her).
And who is the banished one for whom she still hopes?
ADELAIDE.
Hush, dearest, that is a dark secret. Few persons living know about it; and when the birds on the trees of Rosenau tell each other the story they treat it as a dim legend of their forefathers. They then sing softly and sorrowfully, and their feathers stand on end with awe. In due time you shall learn all about it; but now you must think of the fête, and of how pretty you are going to look.
IDA.
On the one hand the father, on the other the lover—how will it end?