COLONEL.
Leave me in peace, Ida, I have other things to think of. This evening I am to speak in public; that is, so to say, the custom at such elections. Don't worry, my child, we'll get the better of the professor and his clique.
[Exit COLONEL toward the garden. IDA and ADELAIDE stand facing each other and wring their hands.]
IDA.
What do you say to that?
ADELAIDE.
You are his daughter—what do you say?
IDA.
Not possible!—Father! Scarcely had he finished explaining to us thoroughly what petty mantles ambition assumes in such elections—