Gladly, papa! No, let me sit at your feet. There I can see your beautiful white beard. When I look at it, I always think of Christmas eve and a quiet snow-covered field. SCHWARTZE. My child, you know how to say pretty things. When you speak, one seems to see pictures about one. Here we are not so clever; that is why we have nothing to conceal here. MAGDA. We also-- But speak quietly, papa. SCHWARTZE. Yes, I must. You know what agreement you made with the pastor. MAGDA. Which you will keep? SCHWARTZE. I am accustomed to keep to what I have promised. But you must see that the suspicion--whatever I may do, the suspicion weighs like a mountain-- MAGDA. What do you suspect? SCHWARTZE. I don't know. You have appeared among us as wonderfully as gloriously. But brilliance and worldly honor and all that don't blind a father's eyes. You seem to be warm at heart too. At least, one would think so to hear you speak. But there is something in your eyes which does not please me, and a scornful curl about your lips. MAGDA. Dear, good old papa! SCHWARTZE. You see! This tenderness is not that of a daughter towards her father. It is so that one pets a child, whether it be a young or an old one. And although I'm only a poor soldier, lame and disabled, I demand your respect, my child. MAGDA. I have never withheld it. [_Rising_.] SCHWARTZE. That is good, that is good, my daughter. Believe me, we are not so simple as we may appear to you. We have eyes to see, and ears to hear, that the spirit of moral revolt is abroad in the world. The seed which should take root in the heart, begins to decay. What were once sins easily become customs to you. My child, soon you will go away. When you return, you may find me in the grave. MAGDA. Oh, no, papa! SCHWARTZE. It's in God's hand. But I implore you-- Come here, my child--nearer--so-- [_He draws her down to him, and takes her head between his hands_.] I implore you--let me be happy in my dying hour. Tell me that you have remained pure in body and soul, and then go with my blessing on your way. MAGDA. I have remained--true to myself, dear father. SCHWARTZE. How? In good or in ill? MAGDA. In what--for me--was good. SCHWARTZE. [_Blankly_.] In what--for you--then? MAGDA. [_Rising_.] And now don't worry any more. Let me enjoy these few days quietly. They will be over soon enough. SCHWARTZE.