WALLENST.

Be tranquil! leave me, sister! dearest wife! 
We are in camp, and this is nought unusual;
Here storm and sunshine follow one another
With rapid interchanges.  These fierce spirits
Champ the curb angrily, and never yet
Did quiet bless the temples of the leader. 
If I am to stay, go you.  The plaints of women
Ill suit the scene where men must act.

[He is going.  TERZHY returns.]

TERZHY.

Remain here.  From this window must we see it.

WALLENSTEIN (to the COUNTESS).

Sister, retire!

COUNTESS.

No—­never.

WALLENSTEIN.

’Tis my will.

TERZKY (leads the COUNTESS aside, and drawing her attention to the DUCHESS).

Theresa?

DUCHESS.

Sister, come! since he commands it.

SCENE VII

WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY

WALLENSTEIN (stepping to the window).

What now, then?

TERZKY.

There are strange movements among all the troops,
And no one knows the cause.  Mysteriously,
With gloomy silentness, the several corps
Marshal themselves, each under its own banners. 
Tiefenbach’s corps make threat’ning movements; only
The Pappenheimers still remain aloof
In their own quarters, and let no one enter.

WALLENST.

Does Piccolomini appear among them?

TERZKY.

We are seeking him:  he is nowhere to be met with.

WALLENST.

What did the Aide-de-camp deliver to you?

TERZKY.

My regiments had dispatch’d him; yet once more
They swear fidelity to thee, and wait
The shout for onset, all prepared, and eager.

WALLENST.

But whence arose this larum in the camp? 
It should have been kept secret from the army,
Till fortune had decided for us at Prague.

TERZKY.

O that thou hadst believed me!  Yester evening
Did we conjure thee not to let that skulker,
That fox, Octavio, pass the gates of Pilsen. 
Thou gavest him thy own horses to flee from thee.

WALLENST.

The old tune still!  Now, once for all, no more
Of this suspicion—­it is doting folly.

TERZKY.

Thou didst confide in Isolani too;
And lo! he was the first that did desert thee.

WALLENST.

It was but yesterday I rescued him
From abject wretchedness.  Let that go by;
I never reckon’d yet on gratitude. 
And wherein doth he wrong in going from me? 
He follows still the god whom all his life
He has worship’d at the gaming-table.  With
My fortune, and my seeming destiny,
He made the bond, and broke it not with me. 
I am but the ship in which his hopes were stow’d
And with the which, well-pleased and confident,