MAGDA. She has reason. HEFFTERDINGT. Isn't your father here? MAGDA. No. HEFFTERDINGT. Isn't he well? MAGDA. I think so. I haven't seen him yet. Yesterday we sat together till late. I told him what I could tell. But I think he was very unhappy; his eyes were always searching and probing. Oh, I fear your promise will be badly kept. HEFFTERDINGT. That seems like a reproach. I hope you don't regret-- MAGDA. No, my friend, I don't regret it. But I feel very curiously. I seem to be in a tepid bath, I'm so weak and warm. What they call German sentiment is awaking again, and I have been so unused to it. My heart seems like a Christmas number of the "Gartenlaube,"--moonlight, betrothals, lieutenants, and I don't know what! But the best of it is, I know that I'm playing with myself. I can cast it all off as a child throws away its doll, and be my old self again. HEFFTERDINGT. That would be bad for us. MAGDA. Oh, don't be angry with me. I seem to be all torn and rooted up. And then I am so afraid-- HEFFTERDINGT. Of what? MAGDA. I can't--I can't be quite one of you. I am an intruder. [_Aside, fearfully_.] If a spectre from without were to appear, this whole idyl would go up in flames. [Heffterdingt _suppresses a start of astonishment_.] And I'm confined, hemmed in. I begin to be a coward. HEFFTERDINGT. I don't think one should be terrified at feeling filial love. MAGDA. Filial love? I should like to take that snow-white head in my lap and say, "You old child!" And nevertheless I must bend my will, I must bend my will. I am not accustomed to that. I must conquer; I must sing down opposition. I sing or I live,--for both are one and the same,--so that men must will as I do. I force them, I compel them to love and mourn and exult and lament as I do. And woe to him who resists! I sing them down,--I sing and sing until they become slaves and playthings in my hands. I know I'm confused, but you understand what I mean. HEFFTERDINGT. To work the impress of one's own personality,--that's what you mean, isn't it? MAGDA.