Book 5 / Act 2 — ACT II.

Scene same as Act I. It is evening; only a slight glow of sunset still shines through the windows.

[Marie and Theresa discovered.]

THERESA.

[Bringing in a lighted lamp.] Miss Marie! Miss Marie!--What is she staring at all the time? Miss Marie!

MARIE [starting.]

[From the window.] What do you want?

THERESA.

Shall I lay the supper?

MARIE.

Not yet.

THERESA.

It's half-past seven.

MARIE.

And he left at half-past six. The performance must have been over long ago. She will not come.

THERESA.

Who? Is any one coming to supper?

MARIE.

No, no, no. [As Theresa is going.] Theresa! do you suppose you could pick a couple of bouquets in the garden?

THERESA.

I might try, but I couldn't tell what I was getting. It's almost pitch dark.

MARIE.

Yes, yes. You may go.

THERESA.

Shall I try to pick the flowers, or--

MARIE.

No--thank you, no.

THERESA.

[Aside.] What is the matter with her?

[Exit.

Enter Mrs. Schwartze.

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Well, Marie, whatever happens I've put on my other cap,--the one with the ribbons. Is it straight?

MARIE.

Yes, mamma dear, very nice.

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Hasn't Aunt Frankie come up yet?

MARIE.

No.

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Heavens! I forgot the two gentlemen entirely. And papa has locked himself up, and will hear nothing and see nothing. Oh, if the General should be offended! It is our most aristocratic connection. That would be a misfortune indeed.

MARIE.

Oh, mamma dear, when he hears what is the matter!

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Yes, yes, I know. And the pastor has not come either. Marie, one minute. If she should ask you--

MARIE.

Who?

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Why, Magda.

MARIE.

Magda!

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

What am I to you, Marie? They call it stepmother. I'm more than that, am I not?

MARIE.

Certainly, mamma dear.

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

You see, then I could not get used to having two such big daughters. But it's all right now? [Marie nods.] And we do love each other?

MARIE.

Very much, mamma dear. [She kisses her.] Enter Franziska.

FRANZISKA.

[Irritably.] One's always disturbing these affecting tableaux!

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

What did the General say?

FRANZISKA.

The General? H'm, he was angry enough. "To leave us alone for an hour and a half, that's nice courtesy," he said. And I think myself--

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

[To Marie, very sadly.] There, what did I tell you?

FRANZISKA.

Well, this time I smoothed the thing over, so that the gentlemen went away in a good humor.

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Really! Oh, I thank you, Frankie, a thousand times.

FRANZISKA.

Yes, I'm good enough to run errands and play the scullery-maid; but when it comes to being one of the family, an old aunt with her heart full of love--

MARIE.

Who has offended you, Aunt Frankie?

FRANZISKA.

Yes, that's very fine. But a little while ago, when I was so upset, no one troubled himself about me one bit. To guarantee an income so that our little miss can be married, I am--

MARIE.

Aunt Frankie!

FRANZISKA.

But as long as I live--

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

What are you talking about?

FRANZISKA.

We know, we two. And to-day. Who brought back your daughter to you?

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

But she hasn't yet--

FRANZISKA.

I brought back your daughter to you. And who thanks me for it? And who recognizes that I have pardoned her? For I have pardoned her [weeping] everything!

Enter Theresa, in great excitement.

MARIE.

What is it, Theresa?

THERESA.

I am so frightened--

MARIE.

What's the matter?

THERESA.

The carriage--

MARIE.

What carriage?

THERESA.

The same as last night.

MARIE.

Is it there? Is it there? [Runs to the window.] Mamma, mamma, come, she's there--the carriage--

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Why, there is a carriage.

MARIE.

[Beating on the door at the left.] Papa, papa! Come quickly, be merciful, come quickly!

[Exit Theresa at a sign from Franziska.] Enter Schwartze.

SCHWARTZE.

What's the matter?

MARIE.

Magda--the carriage!

SCHWARTZE.

Good God! [Hurries to the window.]

MARIE.

Look--look! She's standing up! She's trying to look into the windows. [Clapping her hands.] Papa! papa!

SCHWARTZE.

What is it you have to say?

MARIE.

[Frightened.] I? Nothing.

SCHWARTZE.

Perhaps you were going to say, "She stood before your door and you would not open it." Eh?

MARIE.

Yes, yes.

SCHWARTZE.

Do you hear, wife? She stands before our door. Shall we--in spite of our pride--shall we call her in?

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Oh, Leopold, since everybody thinks so much of her--

MARIE.

Ah! She's driving away!

SCHWARTZE.

No, no, she's not. Come, we will bring her to you.

FRANZISKA.

Yes, yes, bring her to me, too.

[Exit Schwartze and Mrs. Schwartze.

MARIE.

She's sitting back again! If only the carriage doesn't-- What a long time they are! They must have got downstairs. [Frightened, almost beside herself.] There--there--oh, don't go away! Magda! Magda!

FRANZISKA.

Don't scream so! What's the matter?

MARIE.

She's looking round. She's seen them. She's stopping. She's bursting open the door. She's jumped out! Now! Now! She's in father's arms! [Covers her face and sobs.] Oh, Aunt Frankie! Aunt Frankie!

FRANZISKA.

What else could a father do? Since I have forgiven her, he could not--he could not hold out--

MARIE.

She's between father and mother. Oh, how grand she is! She's coming--she's coming. What a homely little thing I shall seem beside her! Oh, I am so frightened! [Leans against the wall, left. A pause. Voices of Magda and her parents are heard outside.]

Enter Magda, brilliantly dressed, with a large mantle, and a Spanish veil on her head. She embraces Marie.

MAGDA.

My puss! My little one! How my little one has grown! My pet--my--[kissing her passionately]. But what's the matter? You're dizzy. Come, sit down. No, no, please sit down. Now. Yes, you must. [Places Marie in an arm-chair.] Dear little hands, dear little hands! [Kneels before her, kissing and stroking her hands.] But they're rough and red, and my darling is pale. There are rings round her eyes.

SCHWARTZE.

[Lays his hand lightly on her shoulder.] Magda, we are here too.

MAGDA.

Yes, yes--I'm entirely--[Standing up, affectionately.] Dear old papa! How white you have become! Dear papa! [Taking his hand.] But what's the matter with your hand? It's trembling.

SCHWARTZE.

Nothing, my child. Don't ask about it.

MAGDA.

H'm--and you've grown handsomer with the years. I can't look at you enough. I shall be very proud with such a handsome papa. But she must get better [indicating Marie]. She's as white as milk. Do you take iron? Eh? You must take iron? [tenderly]. Just to think that I am at home! It seems like a fairy tale. It was a capital idea of yours to call me back without any explanations--senza complimenti--for we've outgrown those silly misunderstandings long ago.

SCHWARTZE.

Misunderstandings!

MAGDA.

I came near driving away. Would not that have been bad of me? But you must acknowledge, I have scratched at the door--very quietly, very modestly--like Lady when she had run away. Where is Lady? Her place is empty. [Whistles.]

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Why, she's been dead seven years!

MAGDA.

Ah, povera bestia--yes, I forgot. And, mamma!--yes, mamma! I haven't looked at you yet. How pretty you've grown! You used to have an air of belated youth about you that was not becoming. But now you're a dear, old little mother. One wants to lay one's head quietly in your lap. I will, too. It'll do me good. Ah, what fine quarrels we used to have! I was a contrary little beast. And you held up your end. But now we'll smoke the pipe of peace, sha'n't we?

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

You're joking with me, Magda.

MAGDA.

Sha'n't I? Mayn't I? There, there,--pure love, pure love. We will have nothing but love. We shall be the best of friends.

FRANZISKA.

[ Who has for a long time tried to attract attention.] And we also, eh, my dear Magda?

MAGDA.

Tiens, tiens! [Examines her critically through her lorgnette.] Same as ever. Always active? Always, as of old, the centre of the family?

FRANZISKA.

Oh--

MAGDA.

Well, give us your hand! There. I never could bear you, and shall never learn, I'm afraid. That runs in the blood, doesn't it?

FRANZISKA.

I have already forgiven you.

MAGDA.

Really! Such magnanimity! I hardly-- Do you really forgive everything? From top to bottom? Even that you stirred up my mother against me before she ever came into the house? That you made my father--[Puts her hand to her lips.] Meglio tacere! Meglio tacere!

MARIE.

[Interrupting.] For Heaven's sake, Magda!

MAGDA.

Yes, my darling--nothing, not a word.

FRANZISKA.

She has a fine presence!

MAGDA.

And now let me look about me! Ah, everything's just the same. Not a speck of dust has moved.

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

I hope, Magda, that you won't find any specks of dust.

MAGDA.

I'm sure of that, mammina. That wasn't what I meant. Twelve years! Without a trace! Have I dreamed all that comes between?

SCHWARTZE.

You will have a great deal to tell us, Magda.

MAGDA.

[Starting.] What? Well, we will see, we will see. Now I should like-- What would I like? I must sit still for a moment. It all comes over me so. When I think-- From that door to the window, from this table to the old bureau,--that was once my world.

SCHWARTZE.

A world, my child, which one never outgrows, which one never should outgrow--you have always held to that?

MAGDA.

What do you mean? And what a face you make over it! Yes, yes, though--that question came at the right time. I have been a fool! I have been a fool! My dear old papa, this happiness will be short.

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Why?

MAGDA.

What do you think of me? Do you think I am as free as I appear? I'm a weary, worn-out drudge who is only fortunate when the lash is on her back.

SCHWARTZE.

Whose drudge? What lash?

MAGDA.

That I can't explain, dear father. You don't know my life. You probably wouldn't understand it, either. Every day, every hour has its work laid out. Ah, well, now I must go back to the hotel.

MARIE.

No, Magda, no.

MAGDA.

Yes, puss, yes. There have been six or seven men there for ever so long, waiting for an audience. But I tell you what, I must have you to-night. Can't you sleep with me?

SCHWARTZE.

Of course. That is--what do you mean--sleep where?

MAGDA.

At the hotel.

SCHWARTZE.

What? You won't stay! You'll put such an affront on us?

MAGDA.

What are you thinking of? I have a whole retinue with me.

SCHWARTZE.

Your father's house is the place for this retinue.

MAGDA.

I don't know. It is rather lively. First, there's Bobo, my parrot, a darling,--he wouldn't be bad; then my pet maid, Giulietta, a little demon,--I can't live without her; then my courier,--he's a tyrant, and the terror of landlords; and then we mustn't forget my teacher.

FRANZISKA.

He's a very old man, I hope.

MAGDA.

No, he's a very young man.

SCHWARTZE.

[After a silence.] Then you must have forgotten your--your dame d'honneur.

MAGDA.

What dame d'honneur?

SCHWARTZE.

You can't travel about from country to country with a young man without--

MAGDA.

Ah! does that disquiet you? I can,--be quite easy,--I can. In my world we don't trouble ourselves about such things.

SCHWARTZE.

What world is that?

MAGDA.

The world I rule, father dear. I have no other. There, whatever I do is right because I do it.

SCHWARTZE.

That is an enviable position. But you are still young. There must be cases when some direction--in short, whose advice do you follow in your transactions?

MAGDA.

There is no one who has the right to advise me, papa dear.

SCHWARTZE.

Well, my child, from this hour your old father claims that right. Theresa! [Theresa answers from outside.] Go to the German House and bring the baggage--

MAGDA.

[Entreatingly.] Pardon, father dear, you forget that my orders are necessary.

SCHWARTZE.

What?--Yes, yes, I forgot. Do what you will, my daughter.

MARIE.

Magda--oh, Magda!

MAGDA.

[Taking her mantle.] Be patient, darling. We'll have a talk soon all to our two selves. And you'll all come to breakfast with me, won't you? We can have a good chat and love each other!--so much!

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

We--breakfast with you?

MAGDA.

I want to have you all under my roof.

SCHWARTZE.

The roof of a hotel?

MAGDA.

Yes, papa dear, I have no other home.

SCHWARTZE.

And this?

MARIE.

Don't you see how you've hurt him?

Enter the Pastor. He stops, and seems to control strong emotion. Magda examines him with her lorgnette.

MAGDA.

He too! Let me see.

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Just think. She is going away again!

HEFFTERDINGT.

I don't know whether I am known to the lady.

MAGDA.

[Mockingly.] You're too modest, Pastor. And now since I have seen you all--[Puts on her mantle.]

SCHWARTZE.

[Quickly, aside.] You must keep her.

HEFFTERDINGT.

I? If you are powerless, how can I--

SCHWARTZE.

Try!

HEFFTERDINGT.

[Constraining himself, with embarrassment.] Pardon me, madam, it seems very officious of me--if I--will you give me a few moments' interview?

MAGDA.

What have we two to say to each other, my dear pastor?

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Oh, do, please! He knows best about everything.

MAGDA.

[Ironically.] Indeed!

MARIE.

I may never ask you for anything again, but do this one thing for my sake!

MAGDA.

[Patting her and looking from one to the other.] Well, the child asks so prettily. Pastor, I am at your service. [Marie thanks her silently.]

FRANZISKA.

[Aside to Mrs. Schwartze.] Now he'll give her a lecture. Come.

SCHWARTZE.

You were once the cause of my sending her from my home. To-day you must see to it that she remains. [Heffterdingt expresses doubt.]

SCHWARTZE.

Marie!

MARIE.

Yes, papa.

[Exit Schwartze, Mrs. Schwartze, Franziska, and Marie.

MAGDA.

[Sits down and examines him through her lorgnette.] So this is the man who undertakes by a five minutes' interview entirely and absolutely to break my will. That they believe in your ability to do it shows me that you are a king in your own dominions. I make obeisance. And now let me see you ply your arts.

HEFFTERDINGT.

I understand no arts, madam, and would avail myself of none. If they put some trust in me here, it is because they know that I seek nothing for myself.

MAGDA.

[Ironically.] That has always been the case?

HEFFTERDINGT.

No, madam. I had, once in my life, a strong, an intense desire. It was to have you for my wife. I need only look at you to see that I was presumptuous. Since then I have put the wish away from me.

MAGDA.

Ah, Pastor, I believe you're paying court to me now.

HEFFTERDINGT.

Madam, if it were not discourteous--

MAGDA.

Oh, then even a shepherd of souls may be discourteous!

HEFFTERDINGT.

I should commiserate you on the atmosphere which has surrounded you.

MAGDA.

[With mocking superiority.] Really? What do you know about my atmosphere?

HEFFTERDINGT.

It seems to me that it has made you forget that serious men are to be taken seriously.

MAGDA.

Ah! [Rising.] Well, then I will take you seriously; and I will tell you that you have always been unbearable to me, with your well-acted simplicity, your droning mildness, your-- Since, however, you condescended to cast your eyes on my worthlessness and drove me from home with your suit,--since then, I have hated you.

HEFFTERDINGT.

It seems to me that according to this I was the foundation of your greatness.

MAGDA.

You're right there. Here I was parched and stifled. No, no, I don't hate you. Why should I hate you so much? It's all so far, so very far, behind me. If you only knew how far! You have sat here day after day in this heavy close air, reeking of lavender, tobacco, and cough mixture, while I have felt the storm breaking about my head. Pastor, if you had a suspicion of what life really is,--of the trial of strength, of the taste of guilt, of conquest, and of pleasure,--you would find yourself very comical with your clerical shop-talk. Ha, ha, ha! Pardon me, I don't believe such a laugh has rung through this respectable house for twelve years; for there's no one here who knows how to laugh. Is there, eh?

HEFFTERDINGT.

No, I fear not.

MAGDA.

Fear, you say. That sounds as though you deprecated it. But don't you hate laughter?

HEFFTERDINGT.

Most of us cannot laugh, madam.

MAGDA.

And to those who could, laughter is sin. You might laugh yourself. What have you to be solemn about? You need not look at the world with this funereal mien. Surely you have a little blond wife at home who knits industriously, and half a dozen curly heads around her, of course. It's always so in parsonages.

HEFFTERDINGT.

I have remained single, madam.

MAGDA.

Ah! [Silence.] Did I hurt you so much, then?

HEFFTERDINGT.

Let that be, shall we not? It is so long ago.

MAGDA.

[Letting her mantle fall.] And your work,--does not that bring happiness enough?

HEFFTERDINGT.

Thank God, it does. But if one takes it really in earnest, one cannot live only for one's self; at least, I cannot. One cannot exult in the fulness of one's personality, as you would call it. And then many hearts are opened to me-- One sees too many wounds there, that one cannot heal, to be quite happy.

MAGDA.

You're a remarkable man-- I don't know--if I could only get rid of the idea that you're insincere.

HEFFTERDINGT.

Will you let me ask you one question before you go?

MAGDA.

Well!

HEFFTERDINGT.

It is about an hour since you entered this house, your home--no, not so much. I could not have been waiting for you nearly as long as that.

MAGDA.

For me? You? Where?

HEFFTERDINGT.

In the corridor outside your room.

MAGDA.

What did you want there?

HEFFTERDINGT.

My errand was useless, for now you are here.

MAGDA.

Do you mean to say that you came for me--you to whom I-- If any one had an interest in keeping me away, it was you.

HEFFTERDINGT.

Are you accustomed to regard everything which those about you do as the result of selfish interest?

MAGDA.

Of course. It's so with me! [Struck by a new thought.] Or perhaps you-- No, I'm not justified in that assumption. [Sharply.] Ah, such nonsense! it is only fit for fairy tales. Well, Pastor, I'll own that I like you now better, much better than of old when you--what shall I say?--made an honorable proposal.

HEFFTERDINGT.

H'm!

MAGDA.

If you could only end it all with a laugh--this stony visage of yours is so unfriendly--one is quite sconcertata. What do you say? Je ne trouve pas le mot.

HEFFTERDINGT.

Pardon me, may I ask the question now?

MAGDA.

Good Lord, how inquisitive the holy man is! And you don't see that I was coquetting with you a little. For, to have been a man's fate,--that flatters us women,--we are grateful for it. You see I have acquired some art meanwhile. Well, out with your question!

HEFFTERDINGT.

Why--why did you come home?

MAGDA.

Ah!

HEFFTERDINGT.

Was it not homesickness?

MAGDA.

No. Well, perhaps a very little. I'll tell you. When I received the invitation to assist at this festival--why they did me the honor, I don't know--a very curious feeling began to seethe within me,--half curiosity and half shyness, half melancholy and half defiance,--which said: "Go home incognito. Go in the twilight and stand before the paternal house where for seventeen years you lived in bondage. There look upon what you were. But if they recognize you, show them that beyond their narrow virtues there may be something true and good."

HEFFTERDINGT.

Only defiance then?

MAGDA.

At first, perhaps. Once on the way, though, my heart beat most wonderfully, as it used to do when I'd learnt my lesson badly. And I always did learn my lessons badly. When I stood before the hotel, the German House,--just think, the German House, where the great officials and the great artists stayed,--there I had again the abject reverence as of old, as if I were unworthy to step on the old threshold. I entirely forgot that I was now myself a so-called great artist. Since then, every evening I have stolen by the house,--very quietly, very humbly,--always almost in tears.

HEFFTERDINGT.

And nevertheless you are going away.

MAGDA.

I must.

HEFFTERDINGT.

But--

MAGDA.

Don't ask me why. I must.

HEFFTERDINGT.

Has any one offended your pride? Has any one said a word of your needing forgiveness?

MAGDA.

Not yet--or, yes, if you count the old cat.

HEFFTERDINGT.

What is there in the world which draws you away again after an hour?

MAGDA.

I will tell you. I felt it the first minute I came. The paternal authority already stretches its net over me again, and the yoke stands ready beneath which I must bow.

HEFFTERDINGT.

But there is neither yoke nor net here. Do not fear shadows. Here are only wide-opened arms which wait to clasp the lost daughter to the empty breast.

MAGDA.

Oh, I beg you, none of that. I do not intend to furnish a pendant to the prodigal son. If I came back as a daughter, as a lost daughter, I should not hold my head up before you as I do; I should grovel in the dust in full consciousness of all my sins. [ With growing excitement.] And that I will not do--that I cannot do--for I am what I am, and I cannot be another. [Sadly.] And therefore I have no home--therefore I must go forth again--therefore--

Enter Mrs. Schwartze.

HEFFTERDINGT.

For Heaven's sake, hush!

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Excuse me, Pastor, I only wanted to know about supper. [Imploringly to Magda, who sits turned away with her hands before her face.] We happen to have a warm joint to-day. You know, Pastor, the gentlemen of the card-club were to be with us. Now, Magda, whether you're going away or not, can't you eat a mouthful in your father's house?

HEFFTERDINGT.

Don't ask now, my dear madam.

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

Oh, if I'm interrupting--I only thought--

HEFFTERDINGT.

Later.

MARIE.

[Appearing in the doorway.] Will she stay? [Magda shrinks at the sound of the voice.]

MRS. SCHWARTZE.

'Sh! [Exit Mrs. Schwartze and Marie.

HEFFTERDINGT.

You have no home, Miss Magda? Did you hear the old mother beseeching and alluring with the best that she has, though it's only a poor dish? Did you hear Marie's voice trembling with tears in the fear that I should not prevail? They trust me too much; they think I only need to speak the word. They don't suspect how helpless I stand here before you. Look! Behind that door are three people in a fever of sorrow and love. If you cross this threshold, you rob each of them of so much life. And you have no home?

MAGDA.

If I have one, it is not here.

HEFFTERDINGT.

[Embarrassed.] Perhaps-- Nevertheless you should not go. Only a few days,--just not to take away the idea that you belong here. So much you owe to them!

MAGDA.

[Sadly.] I owe nothing now to any one here.

HEFFTERDINGT.

No? Really nothing? Then I must tell you about a certain day,--eleven years ago now. I was called into this house in haste, for the Colonel was dying. When I came, he lay there stiff and motionless, his face drawn and white; one eye was already closed, in the other still flickered a little life. He tried to speak, but his lips only quivered and mumbled.

MAGDA.

What had happened?

HEFFTERDINGT.

What had happened? I will tell you. He had just received a letter in which his eldest daughter bade him farewell.

MAGDA.

My God!

HEFFTERDINGT.

It was a long time before he recovered from the apoplectic stroke. Only a trembling in the right arm, which you perhaps have noticed, now remains.

MAGDA.

That is indeed a debt I owe.

HEFFTERDINGT.

Ah, if that were all, Miss Magda! Pardon me, I call you by the name I used long ago. It springs to my lips.

MAGDA.

Call me what you like. Go on.

HEFFTERDINGT.

The necessary result followed. When he received his discharge,--he will not believe in the cause, don't speak to him of it,--then his mind broke down.

MAGDA.

Yes, yes; that is my debt too.

HEFFTERDINGT.

Then you see, Miss Magda, began my work. If I speak of it, you must not think I am pluming myself on it to you. What good would that do me? For a long, long time I nursed him, and by degrees I saw his mind revive again. First I let him collect slugs from the rose-bushes.

MAGDA.

[ With a shudder.] Ugh!

HEFFTERDINGT.

Yes, so far had it gone; then I gave him charge of some money, and then I made him my assistant in the institutions with whose management I was intrusted. There is a hospital and a soup-kitchen and an infirmary, and it makes a great deal to be done. So he became a man once more. I have tried to influence your step-mother too; not because I was greedy for power. Perhaps you'll think that of me. In short, the old tension between her and Marie has been slowly smoothed away. Love and confidence have descended upon the house.

MAGDA.

[Staring at him.] And why did you do all this?

HEFFTERDINGT.

Well, first it is my calling. Then I did it for his sake, for I love the old man; and above all--for--your sake.

[Magda starts, and points to herself interrogatively.]

HEFFTERDINGT.

Yes, for your sake. For this weighed upon me: The day will come when she will turn homeward,--perhaps as victor; but perhaps also as vanquished, broken and ruined in body and soul-- Pardon me these thoughts, I had heard nothing of you-- In either case she shall find a home ready for her. That was my work, the work of long years; and now I implore you not to destroy it.

MAGDA.

[In anguish.] If you knew through what I have passed, you would not try to keep me.

HEFFTERDINGT.

That is all shut out. This is home. Let it alone; forget it.

MAGDA.

How can I forget it? How dare I?

HEFFTERDINGT.

Why should you resist when all stretch their hands out to you in rejoicing? It's very easy. Let your heart speak when you see all around overflowing with love for you.

MAGDA.

[In tears.] You make me a child again. [A pause.]

HEFFTERDINGT.

Then you will stay?

MAGDA.

[Springing up.] But they must not question me!

HEFFTERDINGT.

Must not question you?

MAGDA.

About my life outside there. They wouldn't understand,--none of them; not even you.

HEFFTERDINGT.

Well, then, they sha'n't.

MAGDA.

And you will promise me, for yourself and for the others?

HEFFTERDINGT.

Yes, I can promise it.

MAGDA.

[In a stifled voice.] Call them, then.

HEFFTERDINGT.

[Opening the door on the left.] She will stay.

Enter Marie; then Mrs. Schwartze, Franziska, and Schwartze. Marie throws herself joyfully into Magda's arms. Mrs. Schwartze also embraces her.

SCHWARTZE.

It was your duty, my child.

MAGDA.

Yes, father. [She softly takes his right hand in both of hers, and carries it tenderly to her lips.]

FRANZISKA.

Thank Heaven! Now we can have supper at last! [Opens the sliding door into the dining-room. The supper-table is seen, all set, and lighted brightly by a green-shaded hanging-lamp.]

MAGDA.

[Gazing at it.] Oh, look! The dear old lamp! [The women go slowly out.]

SCHWARTZE.

[Stretching out his hands.] This is your greatest work, Pastor.

HEFFTERDINGT.

Oh, don't, I beg you! And there's a condition attached.

SCHWARTZE.

A condition?

HEFFTERDINGT.

We must not ask about her life.

SCHWARTZE.

[Startled.] What? What? I must, not--

HEFFTERDINGT.

No, no; you must not ask--you must not ask--or-- [Struck by a new thought.] If you do not--yes--I am sure she will confess everything herself.