I tell you, and you,--and you, too, Pastor,--that I would rather have seen her lying in rags and tatters at my feet and begging for forgiveness. For then I should have known that she was still, at heart, my child. But why has she come back here? The world was large enough for her triumph. Why should she rob this humble provincial nest of ours? I know why. To show her miserable father how far one can rise in the world by treading filial duty into the dust,--that is her intention. Pride and arrogance speak in her, and nothing else. HEFFTERDINGT. My dear Colonel, I might ask, what speaks in you? A father's love? You could make no pretence to that. Your rights? I think rather it would be your right to rejoice in the good fortune of your child. Offended custom? I don't know-- Your daughter has done so much through her own strength that even offended custom might at least condone it. It appears to me that pride and arrogance speak in you--and nothing else. SCHWARTZE. [_Angrily_.] Pastor! HEFFTERDINGT. Oh, don't be angry--there is no need of that. When I have something to say, I must say it, mustn't I? I might almost think that it displeased you that she has climbed so high in spite of you. Your pride demands something to forgive, and you are angry because there is nothing to be forgiven. And now, let me ask you, do you seriously wish that she had found her way home, lost and ruined? Do you dare answer for such a wish before the throne of God? [_A silence_.] No, my dear old friend. You have often, in jest, called me your good angel; let me be so once, in reality. Come with me--now--to-day. FRANZISKA. If you'd only seen-- [Heffterdingt _stops her_.] SCHWARTZE. Has she made the slightest effort to approach her parents? Has she thought of her home with one throb of love? Who will vouch for it that my outstretched hand will not be repulsed with scorn? HEFFTERDINGT. I will vouch for it. SCHWARTZE. You? You, above all, have had a proof of her untamable pride. HEFFTERDINGT. [_With embarrassment_.] You should not have reminded me of that. _Enter_ Marie _with flowers, and_ Theresa. MARIE. Papa, papa, listen to what Theresa-- Oh! am I interrupting? SCHWARTZE. [_Pulling himself together_.] What is it? MARIE. To-day I got some more flowers; and when I sent Theresa back to the florist's, she found out it was not a man, but a lady, who had ordered them. And she couldn't sell them again; so she brought them back. [_The others exchange glances_.] HEFFTERDINGT. Tell me, Theresa, did they describe this lady to you? THERESA.