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.

_Si, si, si, si_! Oh, I could tell you everything. Your heart has tendrils which twine about other hearts and draw them out. And you don't do it selfishly. You don't know how mighty you are. The men outside there are beasts, whether in love or hate. But you are a man.

And one feels like a man when one is near you. Just think, when you came in yesterday, you seemed to me so small; but something grows out from you and becomes always greater, almost too great for me.

HEFFTERDINGT.

Good Heavens, what can it be?

MAGDA.

What shall I call it,--self-sacrifice, self-abnegation? It is something with self--or rather the reverse. That is what impresses me. And that is why you can do so much with me.

HEFFTERDINGT.

How strange!

MAGDA.

What?

HEFFTERDINGT.

I must own it to you--it is--it is nonsense; but since I have seen you again, a sort of longing has awakened within me to be like you.

MAGDA.

Ha, ha! You, model of men! Like me!

HEFFTERDINGT.

I have had to stifle much in my nature. My peace is the peace of the dead. And as you stood before me yesterday in your freshness, your natural strength, your--your greatness, I said to myself, "That is what you might have been if at the right moment joy had entered into your life."

MAGDA.

[_In a whisper_.] And one thing more, my friend,-- sin! We must sin if we wish to grow. To become greater than our sins is worth more than all the purity you preach.

HEFFTERDINGT.

[_Impressed_.] That would be-- [_Voices outside_.]

MAGDA.

[_Starting and listening_.] 'Sh!

HEFFTERDINGT.

What's the matter?

MAGDA.

Nothing, it's only my stupid nervousness; not on my own account, believe me, only out of pity for all these. We shall still be friends?

HEFFTERDINGT.

As long as you need me.

MAGDA.

And when I cease to need you?

HEFFTERDINGT.

There will be no change in me, Miss Magda. [_As he is going, he meets_ Schwartze _in the doorway_.]

_Enter_ Schwartze.

SCHWARTZE.

Good-morning, my dear pastor! Will you go out on the porch for a moment? I will follow you. [_Exit_ Heffterdingt.] Now, did you sleep well, my child? [_Kisses her on the forehead_.]