Robert. Now I'm ready!

Trast. I'll go with you.

Robert. You?

Trast. Have I the right?

Robert. (_Hesitatingly_) Good, come!

Frau Heinecke. (_Tenderly, in tears_) Robert!

Robert. (_Tries to conceal his excitement_) I--shall come--again--to say--good-bye! Now I have something important to do. (_He goes towards the door_)

Frau Heinecke. (_At the door, wringing her hands_) Herr Kurt and him!

Oh, there'll be trouble!

Trast. (_Aside_) Shh! ssh!--Well, are we off?

Robert. (_To his mother, in great excitement, tenderly_) And if we--don't see each other--(_Controlling himself_) Good! We'll go!

(_Both go out as_

THE CURTAIN FALLS.)

ACT IV.

Scene:--_Same as in Act II_.

(Trast, Wilhelm _and_ Robert _discovered_. Robert _carries a portfolio under his arm._)

Wilhelm. (_Aside to_ Trast) I have strict orders not to let Herr Heinecke in.

Trast. Nor me?

Wilhelm. Oh, with the Count it is a different matter.

Trast. Thank you for the trust you put in me. Herr Heinecke is accompanied by me. I shall be responsible for his presence here. We shall wait for the Herr Councillor.

Wilhelm. But----

Trast. Which do you prefer--specie or paper? (_Looking for money in his pocket-book_) Is the whole house empty?

Wilhelm. The Herr Councillor has gone to the factory, the Gnadige Frau has a headache, the Gnadiges Fraulein has gone to the city--Herr Kurt likewise.

Trast. Together?

Wilhelm. Oh, they never go together--Herr Kurt wanted to countermand the invitation--because--(_Indicates_ Robert)

Trast. (_Gives him money_) Good! That's all!

Wilhelm. Nothing further, sir?

Trast. Go.

(Wilhelm _bows and goes out_)

Trast. Come here, my boy.

Robert. What do you want?

Trast. What do I want? You know I never want anything. These things don't affect me. But the question is: What do you want here--in this house?

Robert. I want to settle my account.

Trast. Of course--we know that--But, inasmuch as you are willing to forego the generous handshake that the workman usually gets at this proud moment, I should think you would send the accounts to the office--and--(_With gesture of finality_)

Robert. That would be simple enough.

Trast. My dear man, let me talk to you as a friend!

Robert. Go ahead, talk!

Trast. You are pursuing a phantom!

Robert. Really?

Trast. No one has touched your honor.

Robert. Really!

Trast. Because n.o.body in the world could do it.

Robert. Really, really!

Trast. This thing that you call honor--this mixture of shame, and "tempo," and--honesty and pride, things you have acquired through a civilized existence and as a result of your own loyalty, why this can no more be taken away from you by a piece of treachery than your generosity or your judgment! Either it is a part of yourself or else it doesn't exist at all. The sort of honor that can be destroyed by a blow from a fop's glove has nothing to do with you! That is nothing but a mirror for the dandies, a plaything for the indolent and a perfume to the boulevardier.

Robert. You talk like someone trying to make a virtue out of necessity.

Trast. Perhaps--because every virtue is a direct result of necessity.

Robert. And my family?