Probably he feels as Oldendorf does--he is again not pleased with the attitude of the paper. MILLER (_thrusting in his head_). The papers and the mail! BOLZ. Over there! [MILLER _enters, lays the papers on the work-table._] MILLER. Here is the _Coriolanus_. There is something in it about our paper. The errand-boy of the _Coriolanus_ grinned at me scornfully, and recommended me to look over the article. BOLZ. Give it here! Be quiet, Romans, _Coriolanus_ speaks.--All ye devils, what does that mean? [_Reads_.] "On the best of authority we have just been informed that a great change is imminent in the newspaper affairs of our province. Our opponent, the _Union_, will cease to direct her wild attacks against all that is high and holy."--This high and holy means Blumenberg.--"The ownership is said to have gone over into other hands, and there is a sure prospect that we shall be able from now on to greet as an ally this widely read sheet." How does that taste to you, gentlemen? MILLER} Thunder! KÄMPE.}_(All together_.) Nonsense! BELLMAUS.} It's a lie! OLDENDORF. It's another of Blumenberg's reckless inventions. BOLZ. There is something behind it all. Go and get me Gabriel Henning. [_Exit_ MILLER.] This owner has played the traitor; we have been poisoned. [_Springing up._] And this is the feast of the Borgia! Presently the _misericordia_ will enter and sing our dirge. Do me the favor at least to eat up the oysters before it be too late. OLDENDORF (_who has seized the newspaper_.) Evidently this news is only an uncertain rumor. Henning will tell us there is no truth in it. Stop seeing ghosts, and sit down with us. BOLZ (_seating himself_). I sit down, not because I put faith in your words, but because I don't wish to do injustice to the lunch. Get hold of Henning; he must give an account of himself. OLDENDORF. But, as you heard, he is not at home. BOLZ (_zealously eating_). Oh, thou wilt have a fearful awakening, little Orsini! Bellmaus, pour me out some wine. But if the story be not true, if this _Coriolanus_ have lied, by the purple in this glass be it sworn I will be his murderer! The grimmest revenge that ever an injured journalist took shall fall on his head; he shall bleed to death from pin-pricks; every poodle in the street shall look on him scornfully and say: "Fie, _Coriolanus_, I wouldn't take a bite at you even if you were a sausage." [_A knock is heard_. BOLZ _lays down his knife.] Memento mori_! There are our grave-diggers. The last oyster, now, and then farewell thou lovely world! _Enter_ JUDGE SCHWARZ _and_ SENDEN _from the door on the left; the door remains open_. SCHWARZ. Obedient servant, gentlemen! SENDEN. Your pardon if we disturb you. BOLZ (_remaining seated at the table_). Not in the least. This is our regular luncheon, contracted for a whole year--fifty oysters and two bottles daily for each member of the staff. Whoever buys the newspaper has to furnish it. SCHWARZ.