MAGDA.
[Springing up.] Let them come! Let them all come! I don't care, I don't care! To their faces I'll say what I think of you,--of you and your respectable society. Why should I be worse than you, that I must prolong my existence among you by a lie! Why should this gold upon my body, and the lustre which surrounds my name, only increase my infamy? Have I not worked early and late for ten long years? Have I not woven this dress with sleepless nights? Have I not built up my career step by step, like thousands of my kind? Why should I blush before any one? I am myself, and through myself I have become what I am.
VON KELLER.
Good! You may stand there proudly, but you might at least consider--