d of work. (A pause.)

Princess. Do you know what the King's past has been?

Clara (drooping her head). Ah, yes.

Princess. Yours will be tarred with the same brush--no matter what it
really has been.

Clara. I know that. He has told me so.

Princess. Really!--After all, is it a sacrifice you are making for his
sake? Do you love the King?

Clara (faintly). Yes.

Princess. Then listen to me. If you loved the King, you would have made
a _real_ sacrifice for him. We are women, you and I; we can understand
these things without many words. But such a sacrifice does not consist
in consenting to be his queen.

Clara. It is not I that wished it.

Princess. You have allowed yourself to be persuaded?--Well, you are
either deceiving yourself, my girl, or you are deceiving him. Perhaps
you began with the one and are ending with the other. Anyway, it is time
you had your eyes opened as to which of you it is that is making the
sacrifice. Do you not know that, on your account, he is already the
target for general contempt? (CLARA bursts into tears.) If that makes
you repent, show it--show it by your deeds!

Clara. I repent of nothing.

Princess (in astonishment). What state of mind are you in, then?

Clara. I have suffered terribly. But I pray God for strength to bear it.

Princess. Don't talk nonsense! The whole thing is a horrible confusion
of ideas--half remorse and half cant--the one so mixed up with the other
in your mind that you cannot disentangle them. But, believe me, others
feel very sure that sacred things and--and what I won't call bluntly by
its name, go very ill together! So don't waste those airs on me; they
only irritate me!

Clara. Princess, don't be cruel to me. I _am_ suffering, all the same.

Princess. Why on earth do you want to go any farther with the affair?
If you aren't clear about it, take advice! Your father is opposed to it,
isn't he?

Clara. Yes. (Throws herself into a chair.)

Princess. He has hidden himself away from you. You don't know where
he is, or how he is--though you know he is crippled and ill. And,
meanwhile, here you are in full dress, with a rose in your hair, waiting
to set out to a court at the palace! Are you willing to pass through
contemptuous rioting crowds, and over your sick father's body, to become
queen? What callous levity! What a presumptuous mixture of what you
think is love, duty, sacrifice, trial--with an unscrupulous ambition--!
The King? Are you depending