[Breaking out in anguish.] You have lived through the sorrow, and ask whether I feel it?
HEFFTERDINGT.
I think your father will obtain from that gentleman the declaration that he is ready for any sort of peaceable satisfaction.
MAGDA.
Ha, ha! The noble soul! But what can I do?
HEFFTERDINGT.
You can--not spurn the hand which he will offer you.
MAGDA.
What? You don't mean-- This man--this strange man whom I despise--how, how could I--