ROBERT--Why, I’ve had the noose in my hands!--I never saw a hanged body yet that you wouldn’t have covered up. GEORGE--He couldn’t have taken his leave in a vulgarer way. HANSY--What the devil,--hanging is said to be quite handsome! OTTO--I’ve got five marks still owing me from him. We had a bet. He swore he’d keep his place. HANSY--It’s your fault that he’s lying there. You called him a boaster. OTTO--Poppycock! _I_’ve got to grind thru the nights, too. If he’d learned the history of ancient Greek literature, he wouldn’t have had to hang himself! [_Turns to go._] ERNEST--Have you done your composition, Otto? OTTO--Just the introduction. ERNEST--I haven’t the least idea what to write. GEORGE--What, weren’t you there when Affenschmalz gave us the choice of subject? HANSY--I’m going to fake up something out of Democritus. ERNEST--I want to see if Meyer’s Abridged has anything left I can use. OTTO--[_As all disappear._] Have you done your Virgil for to-morrow?--[_When they are gone_, MARTHA _and_ ILSE _come to the grave_.] ILSE--Quick! quick!--There come the grave-diggers off there. MARTHA--Hadn’t we better wait, Ilse? ILSE--What for?--We’ll bring new ones, and more, and more!--There are enough growing. MARTHA--You’re right, Ilse!--[_She throws an ivy-wreath into the grave._ ILSE _opens her apron and lets a shower of fresh anemones rain upon the coffin_.]--I’ll dig up our roses. What if I =am= beaten for it?--Here they’ll bloom well. ILSE--I will water them as often as I go past. I’ll bring forget-me-nots over from the brook, and irises from the house. MARTHA--It ought to be glorious!--glorious! ILSE--I was just over the bridge up there when I heard the shot. MARTHA--Poor heart! ILSE--And I know the reason too, Martha. MARTHA--Did he tell you something? ILSE--Parallelepipedon!--But don’t tell anybody. MARTHA--I won’t.--There’s my hand. ILSE--Here is the pistol. MARTHA--That’s why it couldn’t be found! ILSE--I took it right out of his hand when I went past in the morning. MARTHA--Give it to me, Ilse!--Please, give it to me! ILSE--No, I’m going to keep it for remembrance. MARTHA--Is it true, Ilse, that he’s lying in there without a head? ILSE--He must have loaded it with water!--The mulleins were spattered all over with blood. His brains hung round on the osiers. CURTAIN SCENE III.--MR. _and_ MRS. GABOR _face each other, the window between them, lighting them_. MRS. GABOR-- ... They were in need of a scapegoat. They couldn’t disregard the accusations that were springing up on every side against =them=. And now that my son has had the ill luck to fall foul of the old pedants at the precise moment, now am I, his own mother, to help to complete his executioners’ work?--God preserve me from it!