[_He stands up, looks at his work by the lamp, and then fastens the Christmas tree so that it stands upright. Friebe is small, already a little bent, bandy-legged, and has a bald head. His small, mobile, little monkey face is unshaven. His hair and stubble beard are yellowish grey. He is a jack-of-all-trades. His coat, stiff with a mixture of plate powder, oil, boot-blacking and dust, was cut for a man twice his size, so that the sleeves are tucked up and the skirts overlap considerably. His brown servant’s apron is no cleaner than his coat: from under it from time to time he brings out a snuff-box and takes snuff with intense satisfaction. The tree made firm, he puts it on the table, stands in front and gazes at it._ FRIEBE. A real—bonny—well-set-up—little fir tree! (_with condescending superiority to the women_) you don’t think so—eh? MRS BUCHNER. As an old forester, you should be the best judge of that. FRIEBE. Well, certainly, that would be rather too much; as to what a fir tree is— MRS SCHOLZ (_interrupting him impatiently_). We really mustn’t keep you here, Friebe; my daughter expressly said, “send Friebe for me.” FRIEBE. H’m—tch—for all I care! [_Goes out through the kitchen door, making a contemptuous gesture._ MRS BUCHNER. Are you vexed with him? MRS SCHOLZ. I should think so. Tiresome idiot! If it hadn’t been for my husband—there, you see, that’s my husband all over.—This old snuffler—Nothing else would do, he must have _him_ about the whole day, or else he wasn’t content. Did you ever know such a man? [_Enter Augusta from outside in haste and alarm: once inside, she shuts the glass door violently and throws herself against it as though to prevent some one from coming in._] MRS SCHOLZ (_most violently startled_). Oh God-oh-God-oh-God!!! MRS BUCHNER. Why?—what—? [_Augusta is tall, lanky, and noticeably thin: she is dressed in the height of fashion but without any taste. Fur jacket, fur cap and muff. The face and the feet are long: the face is sharply cut and bitter featured, with thin lips tightly pressed together. She wears a lorgnette. Her nature unites with her mother’s excitability, something of a pathologically disagreeable character. Her personality diffuses round it an atmosphere of discontent, dissatisfaction and comfortlessness._] AUGUSTA. Out there!—as true as I’m here—someone—was following me. MRS BUCHNER (_pointing to the clock_). William, perhaps.—No! not yet. The train can’t be in yet. (_To Augusta_) Wait a moment! [_She puts out her hand to open the door._ AUGUSTA. No! No!—No! No! MRS BUCHNER (_in a cooing manner_). You’re nervous, dear child. (_She goes into the porch and opens the outer door, a little timidly._) Is anyone there?—(_Resolutely_) Is anybody there? (_Pause—no answer._) MRS SCHOLZ (_irritated_).