SONNSFELD.

It seemed as if you were talking to yourself.  Don’t be too melancholy.  You’ll soon learn the Bible verses and I’ll relieve you of most of the knitting.

WILHELMINE.

You are too good—­you are kinder to me than I have deserved of you today.  That work is tiring you—­give it to me.

SONNSFELD.

No, let me have it.  You take the other one that is started.  In this way we will gain time to rest later.

WILHELMINE (listening toward the door).

And we aren’t even allowed a word with each other in freedom.

SONNSFELD (rises and looks toward the door).

It is cruel to let soldiers see a Princess humiliated to the extent of knitting stockings.

WILHELMINE.

Why complain?  It is—­of itself, quite nicely domestic. [She knits.]

SONNSFELD.

What would the Prince of Baireuth say if he could see you now?

WILHELMINE.

The Prince?  What made you think of the Prince?

SONNSFELD.

You cannot deny that his attentions to you might be called almost—­tender—­

WILHELMINE.

Almost—­

SONNSFELD.

Such eyes!  Such burning glances!  I am very much mistaken or it was Your Royal brother’s intention, in sending this young Prince to you, to send you at the same time the most ardent lover under the sun.

WILHELMINE.

Lovers hold more with the moon.

SONNSFELD.

And he shows so great an admiration for you that I am again mistaken if our sentry outside the door there has not already in his pocket a billet-doux addressed to Your Highness—­a billet-doux written by the Prince.

WILHELMINE.

Sonnsfeld!  What power of combination!

SONNSFELD.

Almost worthy of a Seckendorf, isn’t it?  I’ll question the man, in any case.

WILHELMINE.

Are you crazy?

SONNSFELD (at the door).

Hey, there, grenadier!

ECKHOF (comes in).

At your service, madam.  SONNSFELD.  Have you a letter for us?

ECKHOF.

Please Your Honor, yes.

SONNSFELD (to the PRINCESS).

There you are! [To ECKHOF.] From the Prince of Baireuth?

ECKHOF.

Please Your Honor, yes.

WILHELMINE.

Where is it?  Did you take it?

ECKHOF.

Please Your Honor, no. [Wheels and goes out.]

SONNSFELD.

What a dreadful country!  The general heartlessness penetrates even to the uneducated classes.

WILHELMINE.

But how dare the Prince imagine that our sentry could forget all—­all sense of propriety in this way?

SONNSFELD.

Would you not have accepted it?

WILHELMINE.

Never!

[A letter, attached to a little stone, is thrown in at the window.]