FRANZISKA.
What sort of a heart have you? You ought to imitate me. She offended me as only she could,--the little wretch! That is, then she was a little wretch. But now--well, she did not look at me; but if she had--
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Leopold, she was on his Excellency's arm!
SCHWARTZE.
I tell you, and you,--and you, too, Pastor,--that I would rather have seen her lying in rags and tatters at my feet and begging for forgiveness. For then I should have known that she was still, at heart, my child. But why has she come back here? The world was large enough for her triumph. Why should she rob this humble provincial nest of ours? I know why. To show her miserable father how far one can rise in the world by treading filial duty into the dust,--that is her intention. Pride and arrogance speak in her, and nothing else.
HEFFTERDINGT.
My dear Colonel, I might ask, what speaks in you? A father's love? You could make no pretence to that. Your rights? I think rather it would be your right to rejoice in the good fortune of your child. Offended custom? I don't know-- Your daughter has done so much through her own strength that even offended custom might at least condone it. It appears to me that pride and arrogance speak in you--and nothing else.
SCHWARTZE.
[Angrily.] Pastor!