He couldn't have taken his leave in a vulgarer way! HANS RILOW. The devil! Hanging is pretty enough! OTTO. He owes me five marks. We had a bet. He swore he would keep his place. HANS RILOW. You are to blame for his lying there. You called him a boaster. OTTO. Nonsense! I, too, must grind away all night. If he had learned the history of Greek literature he would not have had to hang himself! ERNEST. Have you your composition, Otto? OTTO. First comes the introduction. ERNEST. I don't know at all what to write. GEORGE. Weren't you there when Affenschmalz gave us the theme? HANS RILOW. I'll fake up something out of Democritus. ERNST. I will see if there is anything left to be found in Meyer's Little Encyclopedia. OTTO. Have you your Virgil for to-morrow?---- (_The schoolboys leave----Martha and Ilse approach the grave._) ILSE. Quick, quick!----Here are the grave-diggers coming! MARTHA. Hadn't we better wait, Ilse? ILSE. What for?----We'll bring fresh ones. Always fresh ones. There are enough growing. MARTHA. You're right, Ilse!----(_She throws a wreath of ivy into the grave, Ilse drops her apron and allows a shower of fresh anemones to rain down on the coffin._) MARTHA. I'll dig up our roses. I'll be beaten for it!----They will be of some use here. ILSE. I'll water them as often as I pass here. I'll fetch violets from the brook and bring some iris from our house. MARTHA. It will be beautiful!----beautiful! ILSE. I was just across the brook on that side when I heard the shot. MARTHA. Poor dear! ILSE. And I know the reason, too, Martha. MARTHA. Did he tell you anything? ILSE. Parallelepipedon! But don't tell anybody. MARTHA. My hand on it. ILSE. Here is the pistol. MARTHA. That's the reason they didn't find it! ILSE. I took it right out of his hand when I came along in the morning. MARTHA. Give it to me, Ilse!----Please give it to me! ILSE. No, I'm going to keep it for a souvenir. MARTHA. Is it true, Ilse, that he lay there without a head? ILSE. He must have loaded it with water!----The mulleins were spattered all over with blood. His brains were scattered about the pasture. SCENE THIRD. _Herr and Frau Gabor._ FRAU GABOR. They needed a scapegoat. They did not dare meet the charge that was made everywhere against themselves. And now that my child has had the misfortune to run his head into the noose at the right moment, shall I, his own mother, help to end the work of his executioners?----God keep me from it! HERR GABOR.