Good gracious, Friebe, I really don’t know— ROBERT. In the writing-table, mother. MRS SCHOLZ. Ah—yes!— [_She takes a bunch of keys and fumbles nervously for the right one._ AUGUSTA. Why! you know the key of the desk! ROBERT. The one with the straight ward. MRS SCHOLZ. Oh yes! wait a minute! ROBERT. Give it to me. MRS SCHOLZ. Wait—wait—here—ah!—no!—I’m quite confused! (_handing Robert the bunch_). There! ROBERT (_detaching the right key and passing it to Friebe_). There, I trust my father’s cigars may meet with your approval. FRIEBE. There you are! We shan’t get him away from them all day! (_bell rings loudly_) Coming—coming! (_goes off upstairs_). MRS SCHOLZ. Now the wine will soon come to an end!—Good heavens! What are we coming to! All that wine. Always those strong, expensive cigars! I tell you he will ruin himself! ROBERT. Well, it’s a free country! MRS BUCHNER. What do you mean? ROBERT. Everyone has a right to amuse himself in his own way. I, at any rate, would not have my right interfered with, not even by law. H’m, it’s extraordinary! MRS BUCHNER. What! ROBERT. Extraordinary! MRS BUCHNER. Why do you look at me so critically? Is it something about me that is _extraordinary_? ROBERT. Depends how you look at it! You’ve been with us several days, and you’ve not yet thought of going—! AUGUSTA. What a way to talk! MRS SCHOLZ. They _won’t_ stop! [_She shakes her head despairingly._ ROBERT (_with brutal candour_). Well mother, isn’t it true? Have any strangers ever been able to stand us more than half a day? Haven’t they all cleared out?—The Schulzes—the Lehmanns? AUGUSTA. As if we were dependent on strangers—for my part we’re enough for ourselves. ROBERT. Oh _more_ than enough! (_Brutally_) I tell you, Mrs Buchner, they would fly at each other’s throats before perfect strangers—like wild beasts. Mother would tear off the tablecloth, father smash the water-bottle—cheerful, eh?—Pretty scenes!—Charming impressions for children! AUGUSTA. You ought to crawl out of sight for shame, you mean wretch, you! [_Goes off quickly._ MRS SCHOLZ. You see? _This_ is what I’ve endured for years—_years_! [_Goes out in great agitation._ ROBERT (_going on, quite unmoved_). And no wonder. A man of forty marries a girl of sixteen and carries her off to this godforsaken corner. A man who has served as surgeon in the Turkish army, and travelled through Japan. A cultivated, enterprising spirit, who works out the most daring projects—joins himself to a woman who a few years before was firmly convinced, that America was one of the stars in the sky. Truly I don’t exaggerate! Well, the result—a stagnant, corrupt, fermenting swamp—out of which we have had the doubtful advantage of growing—Horrible!—Love?—not a trace. Mutual understanding?—respect?—not a touch—and this is the soil from which we children have grown. MRS BUCHNER. Mr Robert!—I want to beg you— ROBERT.