Which is very convenient for you. But why should I not make it convenient for you? In the manner in which we met, you had no obligations towards me. I had left my home; I was young and innocent, hot-blooded and careless, and I lived as I saw others live. I gave myself to you because I loved you. I might perhaps have loved any one who came in my way. That--that seemed to be all over. And we were so happy,--weren't we? VON KELLER. Ah, when I think of it, my heart seems to stop beating. MAGDA. There in the old attic, five flights up, we three girls lived so merrily in our poverty. Two hired pianos, and in the evening bread and dripping. Emmy used to warm it herself over the oil-stove. VON KELLER. And Katie with her verses! Good Lord! What has become of them? MAGDA. _Chi lo sà_? Perhaps they're giving singing-lessons, perhaps they're on the stage. Yes, we were a merry set; and when the fun had lasted half a year, one day my lover vanished. VON KELLER. An unlucky chance, I swear to you. My father was ill. I had to travel. I wrote everything to you. MAGDA. H'm! I did not reproach you. And now I will tell you why I owe you thanks. I was a stupid, unsuspecting thing, enjoying freedom like a runaway monkey. Through you I became a woman. For whatever I have done in my art, for whatever I have become in myself, I have you to thank. My soul was like--yes, down below there, there used to be an Æolian harp which was left mouldering because my father could not bear it. Such a silent harp was my soul; and through you it was given to the storm. And it sounded almost to breaking,--the whole scale of passions which bring us women to maturity,--love and hate and revenge and ambition [_springing up_], and need, need, need--three times need--and the highest, the strongest, the holiest of all, the mother's love!-- All I owe to you! VON KELLER. What--what do you say? MAGDA. Yes, my friend, you have asked after Emmy and Katie. But you haven't asked after your child. VON KELLER. [_Jumping up and looking about anxiously_.] My child! MAGDA. Your child? Who calls it so? Yours? Ha, ha! Dare to claim portion in him and I'll kill you with these hands. Who are you? You're a strange man who gratified his lust and passed on with a laugh. But I have a child,--my son, my God, my all! For him I lived and starved and froze and walked the streets; for him I sang and danced in concert-halls,--for my child who was crying for his bread! [_Breaks out in a convulsive laugh which changes to weeping, and throws herself on a seat, right_.] VON KELLER.