Kurt. Pardon me. Count--my friend regrets---- Lothar. Regrets is hardly the word, Kurt. Kurt. (_Stuttering_) Well--er--er---- Trast. Perhaps our friend would like to consider our little conversation as not having taken place? Lothar. We can go as far as that at least, Kurt. Trast. I must keep pace with his generosity, and--express the same desire. Kurt. Then the matter is settled. Lothar. And I take the liberty to express my pleasure at meeting personally, the man whose work I have respected for so many years. Trast. (_Very politely_) You see, Lieutenant, that it was not entirely superfluous when I asked "Is that all?" As business men, we can understand each other perfectly. Gentlemen, Herr Brandt Junior, heir to the worthy firm of importers, Brandt and Stengel, with which I am pleased to have business relations, has just given me a little statement in private on the theme of "Honor." Permit me to make the answer public. (_They sit down_) In confidence, there is no such thing as honor, (_All are astonished_) Don't be frightened. It won't hurt you. Lothar. And what we call honor? Trast. What we commonly call honor is nothing more than the shadow we throw in the sunlight of publicity. But the worst part of it is that we have as many kinds of honor as we have business circles and strata. How can one find his way among them? Lothar. (_Sharply_) You are mistaken. Count. There is only one honor, just as there is only one sun and one God. One must feel that--or he is no gentleman. Trast. Hm!--Permit me to tell you a little tale. In a journey through Central Asia I stopped at the house of a Thibetan Chief. I was dusty and footsore. He received me, sitting on his throne. Beside him was his charming little wife. "Rest yourself, traveler," he said to me, "my wife will prepare you a bath and then we men shall dine together." And he gave me over to his young wife.--Gentlemen, if ever in my life my self-control was put to test it was in that hour--And when I returned to the hall, what did I find? The attendants under arms, threatening voices and half-drawn swords. "You must die!" cried my host, "you have given a deadly insult to the honor of my house. You have scorned to accept the most sacred thing I could offer you."--You see, gentlemen, I am still living, for eventually the deficient sense of honor of the barbaric European was forgiven. (_They laugh_) If you happen to know any of our modern writers on the theme of adultery you might tell them this story. (_All laugh, and move gradually towards the left._) Trast. (_Continuing_) Gentlemen, I don't want to be considered immoral. The study of the puzzles of civilization is a thing apart.--You see it lies in the nature of your so-called honor, that it may only be possessed by the certain few, the demi-gods; for it is an emotional luxury that loses value in direct proportion as it is appropriated by the rabble.