MARIE. I've already sent her away, mamma. MRS. SCHWARTZE. That's right, that's right. [_Exit_ Marie. Mrs. Schwartze _knocks again_.] Leopold! listen to me, Leopold! [_Retreating_.] Oh, Heaven! he's coming! [_Enter_ Schwartze, _bent and tottering_.] MRS. SCHWARTZE. How do you feel, Leopold? SCHWARTZE. [_Sinking into a chair_.] Yes, yes,--just like the roses. The knife conies, and cuts the stem, and the wound can never be healed. What am I saying? What? MRS. SCHWARTZE. He's out of his mind. SCHWARTZE. No, no, I'm not out of my mind. I know quite well-- [Magda _appears at the door, left_.] MRS. SCHWARTZE. What have you done to him? SCHWARTZE. Yes, what have you--what have you? That is my daughter. What shall I do with my daughter now? MAGDA. [_Humbly, almost beseechingly_.] Father, isn't it best, after what has happened, that you should let me go,--that you should drive me into the streets? You must get free of me if this house is to be pure again. SCHWARTZE. So, so, so! You think, then, you have only to go--to go away, out there, and all will be as before? And we? What will become of us? I--good God!--I--I have one foot in the grave--soon it will be over--but the mother, and your sister--your sister. MAGDA. Marie has the husband she wants-- SCHWARTZE. No one will marry a sister of yours. [_With aversion_.] No, no. Don't think it! MAGDA. [_Aside_.] My God! SCHWARTZE. [_To_ Mrs. Schwartze.] See, she's beginning now to realize what she has done. MRS. SCHWARTZE. Yes; what-- MAGDA. [_In tender sympathy, but still with a tinge of superiority_.] My poor old father--listen to me--I can't change what has passed. I will give Marie half my fortune. I will make up a thousand times all that I have made you suffer to-day. But now, I implore you, let me go my way. SCHWARTZE. Oho! MAGDA. What do you want of me? What am I to you? Yesterday at this time you did not know even whether I still lived; and to-day-- It is madness to demand that I should think and feel again as you do; but I am afraid of you, father, I'm afraid of you all--ah, I am not myself-- [_Breaking out in torment_.] I cannot bear the sorrow. SCHWARTZE. Ha, ha! MAGDA.