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.