SIGNE. For Christ's sake, mercy!
STEPMOTHER. 'Tis mercy that you are alive!
DUKE. [Pulls out his sword and tries the edge of it, first on one of his finger-nails, and then on a hair out of his long beard] Her head should be cut off—put in a sack—hung on a tree——
STEPMOTHER. So it should!
DUKE. We are agreed! How strange!
STEPMOTHER. It did not happen yesterday.
DUKE. And may not happen once again.
STEPMOTHER. [To Signe, who, still on her knees, has been moving farther away] Stop! Whither? [She raises the whip and strikes; Signe turns aside so that the lash merely cuts the air.]
SWANWHITE. [Comes forward from behind the bed and falls on her knees] Stepmother—here I am—the guilty one! She's not at fault.
STEPMOTHER. Say "mother"! You must call me "mother"!