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!