Haven't you?
SCHWARTZE.
They say a good conscience-- Come to me, my child.
MAGDA.
Gladly, papa! No, let me sit at your feet. There I can see your beautiful white beard. When I look at it, I always think of Christmas eve and a quiet snow-covered field.
SCHWARTZE.
My child, you know how to say pretty things. When you speak, one seems to see pictures about one. Here we are not so clever; that is why we have nothing to conceal here.
MAGDA.
We also-- But speak quietly, papa.