[_Cries of_ "Pfeifer, come out!"--"We want Pfeifer!"--"Pfeifer, come out!" _are heard._ MRS. DREISSIGER Pfeifer, Pfeifer, they want Pfeifer! PFEIFER [_Dashes in._] Mr. Dreissiger, there are people at the back gate already, and the house door won't hold much longer. The smith's battering at it like a maniac with a stable pail. [_The cry sounds louder and clearer_: "Pfeifer! Pfeifer! Pfeifer! come out!" _MRS. DREISSIGER rushes off as if pursued. MRS. KITTELHAUS follows. PFEIFER listens, and changes colour as he hears what the cry is. A perfect panic of fear seizes him; he weeps, entreats, whimpers, writhes, all at the same moment. He overwhelms DREISSIGER with childish caresses, strokes his cheeks and arms, kisses his hands, and at last, like a drowning man, throws his arms round him and prevents him moving._ PFEIFER Dear, good, kind Mr. Dreissiger, don't leave me behind. I've always served you faithfully. I've always treated the people well. I couldn't give 'em more wages than the fixed rate. Don't leave me here--they'll do for me! If they finds me, they'll kill me. O God! O God! My wife, my children! DREISSIGER [_Making his way out, vainly endeavouring to free himself from PFEIFER'S clutch._] Can't you let me go, fellow? It'll be all right; it'll be all right. _For a few seconds the room is empty. Windows are shattered in the drawing-room. A loud crash resounds through the house, followed by a roaring_ "Hurrah!" _For an instant there is silence. Then gentle, cautious steps are heard on the stair, then timid, hushed ejaculations_: "To the left!"--"Up with you!"--"Hush!"--"Slow, slow!"--"Don't shove like that!"--"It's a wedding we're goin' to!"--"Stop that crowdin'!"--"You go first!"--"No, you go!" _Young weavers and weaver girls appear at the door leading from the hall, not daring to enter, but each trying to shove the other in. In the course of a few moments their timidity is overcome, and the poor, thin, ragged or patched figures, many of them sickly-looking, disperse themselves through DREISSIGER'S room and the drawing-room, first gazing timidly and curiously at everything, then beginning to touch things. Girls sit down on the sofas, whole groups admire themselves in the mirrors, men stand up on chairs, examine the pictures and take them down. There is a steady influx of miserable-looking creatures from the hall._ FIRST OLD WEAVER [_Entering._] No, no, this is carryin' it too far. They've started smashin' things downstairs. There's no sense nor reason in that. There'll be a bad end to it. No man in his wits would do that. I'll keep clear of such goings on. _JAEGER, BECKER, WITTIG carrying a wooden pail, BAUMERT, and a number of other old and young weavers, rush in as if in pursuit of something, shouting hoarsely._ JAEGER Where has he gone? BECKER Where's the cruel brute? BAUMERT