Major. Control yourself, Fritz! Fritz. Yes, father! Frau von Drosse. Let him alone, Richard! Remember he has to leave directly. Fritz (_staring straight before him_). Yes, I must go directly. Major (_shaking his head, examines him_). Remarkable! Agnes (_who returns with a bottle and glasses_). There is the wine, dear Fritz. Fritz. Ah, if only the wine is there! (_Hurries to the table and pours the wine_.) Does no one touch glasses with me? Major. Just wait, I will touch glasses with you. Fritz. Then long life to us, friends! May we live happily.... Long may we live.... (_Musing_.) May we live as long as possible! Major. But you are not drinking. Fritz. Yes, yes. (_Tosses down a glass_.) Major. Well, I should like to take this occasion to ask you just why you don't write to us any more. Frau von Drosse. Please, Richard, please say nothing to him--he telegraphed. Fritz (_starting anxiously_). Telegraphed? What did I telegraph? (Major _makes signals to him behind his mother's back_.) Fritz. Yes, of course. You see, father, I telegraphed.... And then, not long ago, I fell from the trapeze and sprained my arm a bit. Frau von Drosse. You see, Richard, that is what hurt him just now; and yet you scolded him. Fritz. Mamma, father is right.... A soldier is not allowed to show signs of pain--he has no pain. That is something which doesn't happen, it is something which doesn't happen at all, does it, Agnes? Agnes. Why do you ask _me_, Fritz? Major. Remarkable!... You know, darling, the boy would like something to eat. In such cases, you always see to it yourself--eh? Fritz. No, indeed, mother--stay here, mother. (_He grasps her hands_.) Frau von Drosse (_imploringly_). Richard, the time is just now so short. Major. Won't do, child! I have to speak to him about something. Fritz. What is it, father? There is indeed no question of ... Frau von Drosse (_standing up and sighing_). Don't be too long, Richard. Remember I wish to have something more of him. (_Goes with_ Agnes _to the door on the left, where she turns again_.) My boy, don't you look at me any more? Fritz. (_Who has been standing with averted face, biting his lips, turns suddenly_.) At your service, mother!