FERDINAND (coldly). Here they would be out of place.
LADY MILFORD (with increasing agitation). In what light am I to understand this prelude?
FERDINAND (slowly, and with emphasis). As the protest of the voice of honor—should you think proper to enforce the possession of my hand!
LADY MILFORD (starting with indignation). Major von Walter! What language is this?
FERDINAND (calmly). The language of my heart—of my unspotted name—and of this true sword.
LADY MILFORD. Your sword was given to you by the prince.
FERDINAND. 'Twas the state which gave it, by the hands of the prince. God bestowed on me an honest heart. My nobility is derived from a line of ancestry extending through centuries.
LADY MILFORD. But the authority of the prince——
FERDINAND (with warmth). Can he subvert the laws of humanity, or stamp glory on our actions as easily as he stamps value on the coin of his realm? He himself is not raised above the laws of honor, although he may stifle its whispers with gold—and shroud his infamy in robes of ermine! But enough of this, lady!—it is too late now to talk of blasted prospects—or of the desecration of ancestry—or of that nice sense of honor—girded on with my sword—or of the world's opinion. All these I am ready to trample under foot as soon as you have proved to me that the reward is not inferior to the sacrifice.
LADY MILFORD (in extreme distress turning away). Major! I have not deserved this!