WIFE. Nobody but him—that I am sure—I would lay a wager—no, no husband—you must not take his part—it was very wicked! Who knows what is now become of that poor creature? She has not been heard of this many a year. May be she is starving for hunger. Her father might have lived longer too, if that misfortune had not happened. [Agatha _faints._] COTTAGER. See here! Help! She is fainting—take hold! WIFE. Oh, poor woman! COTTAGER. Let us take her into the next room. WIFE. Oh poor woman!—I am afraid she will not live. Come, chear up, chear up.—You are with those who feel for you. [_They lead her off._] SCENE II. _An apartment in the Castle._ _A table spread for breakfast—Several servants in livery disposing the equipage_—BARON WILDENHAIM _enters, attended by a_ GENTLEMAN _in waiting._ BARON. Has not Count Cassel left his chamber yet? GENTLEMAN. No, my lord, he has but now rung for his valet. BARON. The whole castle smells of his perfumery. Go, call my daughter hither. [_Exit_ Gentleman.] And am I after all to have an ape for a son-in-law? No, I shall not be in a hurry—I love my daughter too well. We must be better acquainted before I give her to him. I shall not sacrifice my Amelia to the will of others, as I myself was sacrificed. The poor girl might, in thoughtlessness, say yes, and afterwards be miserable. What a pity she is not a boy! The name of Wildenhaim will die with me. My fine estates, my good peasants, all will fall into the hands of strangers. Oh! why was not my Amelia a boy? _Enter_ AMELIA—[_She kisses the_ Baron’s _hand_.] AMELIA. Good morning, dear my lord. BARON. Good morning, Amelia. Have you slept well? AMELIA. Oh! yes, papa. I always sleep well. BARON. Not a little restless last night? AMELIA. No. BARON. Amelia, you know you have a father who loves you, and I believe you know you have a suitor who is come to ask permission to love you. Tell me candidly how you like Count Cassel? AMELIA. Very well. BARON. Do not you blush when I talk of him? AMELIA. No. BARON. No—I am sorry for that. [_aside_] Have you dreamt of him? AMELIA. No. BARON. Have you not dreamt at all to-night? AMELIA. Oh yes—I have dreamt of our chaplain, Mr. Anhalt. BARON. Ah ha! As if he stood before you and the Count to ask for the ring. AMELIA. No: not that—I dreamt we were all still in France, and he, my tutor, just going to take his leave of us for ever—I ’woke with the fright, and found my eyes full of tears. BARON. Psha! I want to know if you can love the Count. You saw him at the last ball we were at in France: when he capered round you; when he danced minuets; when he——. But I cannot say what his conversation was. AMELIA. Nor I either—I do not remember a syllable of it. BARON. No? Then I do not think you like him. AMELIA. I believe not. BARON. But I think it proper to acquaint you he is rich, and of great consequence: rich and of consequence; do you hear?