And where does he meet you? MARIE. Here. MAGDA. I mean elsewhere--alone. MARIE. We are never alone together. I think this precaution we owe to our own self-respect. MAGDA. Come here--close--tell me the truth--has it never entered your mind to cast this whole network of precaution and respect away from you, and to go with the man you love out and away--anywhere--it doesn't matter much--and as you lie quietly on his breast, to hurl back a scornful laugh at the whole world which has sunk behind you? MARIE. No, Magda, I never feel so. MAGDA. But would you die for him? MARIE. [_Standing up with a gesture of enthusiasm_.] I would die a thousand deaths for him! MAGDA. My poor little darling! [_Aside_.] They bring everything to naught. The most terrible of all passions becomes in their hands a mere resigned defiance of death. MARIE. Whom are you speaking of? MAGDA. Nothing, nothing. See here, how large is this sum you need? MARIE. Sixty thousand marks. MAGDA. When can you be married? Must it be now, or will afternoon do? MARIE. Don't mock me, Magda. MAGDA. You must give me time to telegraph. One can't carry so much money about with one. MARIE. [_Slowly taking it in, and then, with an outburst of joy, throwing herself at_ Magda's _feet_.] Magda! MAGDA. [_After a silence_.] Be happy, love your husband. And if you hold your first-born on your arm, in the face of the world [_holding out her arms with angry emphasis_]-- so, face to face, then think of one who-- Ah! some one's coming. _Enter_ Heffterdingt _with a portfolio_. MAGDA. [_Crossing to him_.] Oh, it's you. That's good. I wanted you. HEFFTERDINGT. You wanted me? What for? MAGDA. Only--I want to talk with you, holy man. HEFFTERDINGT. Isn't it good, Miss Magda, to be at home again? MAGDA. Oh, yes, except for the old aunt's sneaking about. MARIE. [_Who is collecting the breakfast-things; laughing, but frightened_.] Oh, Heavens, Magda! HEFFTERDINGT. Good-morning, Miss Marie. MARIE. Good-morning, Pastor. [_Exit, with the table_. HEFFTERDINGT. Heavens, how she beams!