DIETHELM--I’ll put it on the floor. You get in a circle round it. Whoever hits it, gets it. RUPRECHT--Aren’t you in on this too, Melchior? MELCHIOR--No, thank you. HELMUTH--The Joseph! GASTON--He can’t any more. He’s here to recover his health. MELCHIOR--[_To himself._] It isn’t wise for me to stay out. Everyone keeps an eye on me. I must join in--or my creature will go to the devil.--The confinement makes them abuse themselves.--I may break my neck: I’ll be glad. I may get away: I’ll be glad too. I can only gain, either way.--Ruprecht is getting to be my friend: he knows all about things here. I’ll treat him to the chapters of Judah’s daughter-in-law Tamar, of Moab, of Lot and his daughters, of Queen Vashti and of Abishag the Shunammite.--He’s got the sorriest face in the lot! RUPRECHT--I’m getting it! HELMUTH--It’ll come yet! GASTON--Day after to-morrow, maybe! HELMUTH--Now!--Look!--O God, O God!... ALL--Summa--summa cum laude!! RUPRECHT--[_Picking up the coin._] Many thanks. HELMUTH--Come here with that, you! RUPRECHT--Dirty beast! HELMUTH--Jail-bird! RUPRECHT--[_Strikes him in the face._] There! [_Runs away._] HELMUTH--[_Running after him._] I’ll kill you! THE REST--[_Rushing after them._] Get after him! Hustle! Hey! Hey! Hey! MELCHIOR--[_Alone, looking at the window._] There’s where the lightning-rod goes down. You must wind a handkerchief round it.--When I think of =her= the blood always shoots to my head. And Moritz weighs on me like lead.--I’ll go to a newspaper office: pay me by the hundred, I’ll sell papers--collect news--write--local--ethical--psychophysical.... It’s no longer so easy to starve:--lunch-wagons, soft-drink places.--The house is sixty feet high and the stucco is crumbly.... She hates me--she hates me because I’ve robbed her of her freedom. No matter how I act, it remains--rape.--All I can do is to hope, gradually, in the course of years....--In a week it’ll be new moon. To-morrow I’ll grease the hinges. By Saturday at the latest I must know who has the key.--Sunday evening at prayers, a cataleptic fit--please God no one else gets sick!--Everything lies as clearly as if it had happened before me. I can get over the window-sill easily--a swing--a grip--but one must wrap a handkerchief around it.--There comes the Head Inquisitor. [_He goes off._ DR. PROKRUSTES _and a_ LOCKSMITH _enter on the other side_.] DR. PROKRUSTES-- ... It’s true the windows are in the third story and nettles are planted underneath; but what does degeneracy care for nettles?--Last winter one climbed out of a skylight on us, and we had all the fuss of picking up and carting away and burying.... THE LOCKSMITH--Do you want the grating of wrought iron? DR. PROKRUSTES--Wrought iron--and since it can’t be set in, riveted. CURTAIN SCENE V.--WENDLA’S _room_. WENDLA _in bed_. MRS. BERGMANN _at its foot_. INA _leaning at the window_. DR. VON BRAUSEPULVER _discoursing_. DR. VON BRAUSEPULVER--How old are you exactly?