Agnes. I?... Ah, no, dear Fritz.... Would you not like to drink something? (Fritz _stares at her, without replying_.) Major. Fritz! Fritz (_starting up_). Yes, father! Major. You are asked a question. Fritz. To be sure, pardon me!... Pardon me, dear Agnes!... It is the heat ... It makes one quite idiotic.... Please bring me anything you like.... No, bring me rather some Rhine wine.... Bring some of the '64. Major (_laughing_). You go eagerly at the stuff, my son.... Fritz. Forgive me, father, if I was too bold. I don't know how I came to do it. Major (_to_ Agnes). Just bring it, bring it. (Agnes _takes the keys from the shelf and goes out to the right_.) Frau von Drosse. How long have you furlough, my boy? Fritz. Furlough? Ha, ha, furlough ... No furlough at all. Sixty precious minutes, I have spared for you (_stretching himself_) then it is over! (_Throws himself into a chair standing near the place where his mother is sitting_.) Major. It is "over," what does that mean? Are you then on duty? Fritz. On duty?... Well, yes indeed, I am on duty--to be sure--of course. Major. What duty can that be? Fritz. Well, a patrol ride, of course. Major. When did you set out? Fritz. At noon, father. Major. Remarkable. In my time, the cavalry rode in patrol service rather about midnight. Fritz. Yes, the old man[2] does such things.... It is all one to him. If he can give petty annoyance. Yes. Major. How do you have time to stop in here? Fritz. Well, I had to unsaddle, and anyhow have ridden four and a half miles. It was only the question whether I should feed the horse at Braun's at the entrance where one gets merely water or---- Major. Of course you are right about that. Frau von Drosse (_stroking his hands_). See what brown hands the boy has got.... I wonder how they can be burned through the gloves ... Just look, Richard, he has the white mark on his forehead, there where it is shaded. The last time, it was not there. My boy, my boy! (_Bends down her head and kisses him on the forehead_.) (Fritz _closes his eyes and utters a low whimpering exclamation of pain_.) Frau von Drosse. What was it? Did I hurt you, my boy? Fritz (_with embarrassed laughter_). Oh, no--no!