AGATHA. I am so weak, and my head so giddy--I had nothing to eat all
yesterday.

FREDERICK. Good heavens! Here is my little money, take it all! Oh
mother! mother! [Runs to the inn]. Landlord! Landlord! [knocking
violently at the door.]

LANDLORD. What is the matter?

FREDERICK. A bottle of wine--quick, quick!

LANDLORD [surprised]. A bottle of wine! For who?

FREDERICK. For me. Why do you ask? Why don't you make haste?

LANDLORD. Well, well, Mr. soldier: but can you pay for it?

FREDERICK. Here is money--make haste, or I'll break every window in
your house.

LANDLORD. Patience! Patience! [goes off.

FREDERICK [to Agatha]. You were hungry yesterday when I sat down to a
comfortable dinner. You were hungry when I partook of a good supper.
Oh! Why is so much bitter mixed with the joy of my return?

AGATHA. Be patient, my dear Frederick. Since I see you, I am well.
But I _have been_ ill: so ill, that I despaired of ever beholding you
again.