MAGDA.
My child.
SCHWARTZE.
Good! Your child,--your child,--you love it? [Magda nods.] You wish to see it again? [She nods.] And--yes--if you made an oath upon its head [makes a motion as if he laid his hand upon a child's head], then you would not perjure yourself? [Magda shakes her head, smiling.] That's well. [Rising.] Either you swear to me now, as upon his head, that you will become the honorable wife of his father, or--neither of us two shall go out of this room alive. [Sinks back on the seat.]