Zina. Oh, please buy me, Master D’Arneaux, I am so miserable now.
D’A. Zina, your honor is more sacred than your life, and you have the right to defend it to the death, even against your master (handing stiletto). Take this knife and kill the miscreant who would insult you.
Zina (kissing and hugging it to her bosom). Oh, I am so helpless alone with them.
D’A. Zina, you were not born to be a slave. God has not put the stamp of that race in your angel face. Your brain is sharper than your master’s. Think! at fourteen you read as well as the best at the plantation. In music you are a prodigy.
Zina. Oh, Master D’Arneaux, you are always so kind to me. Heaven is good to your help when it gives so good a master.
D’A. It is Heaven, too, that gives you so much of sympathy and goddness.
Zina. I have thought I was so bad, Master D’Arneaux.
D’A. Why did you think that, my little one?
Zina. The driver says, only the wicked are unhappy. Oh, it is so hard for me to be good.
D’A. You make a very grave mistake, Zina. The best people that have lived have been full of tears.