Johann, Father, that I'll speak to his master about it first.

Alma. What for? It's all been arranged already.

Robert. You won't use Herr Muhlingk's carriage any more! For a girl of your--our position, there is always the street-car!

(Alma begins to cry defiantly.)

Frau Heinecke. The poor child!

Auguste. You seem to want to turn everything in this house upside down!

(Children's voices are heard in the court.)

Heinecke. Come here!--Quick!--A Moor!--in a turban!

All. (Except Robert, who remains, troubled, rush to the window) That's not a Moor!

Alma. (Still sobbing) Robert--is that--a Moor?

Robert. (Darkly) No, that's my friend's Indian servant.

Frau Heinecke. Your friend?--is that the count?

Robert. Yes.

(The servant comes in, and they crowd about him.)

Robert. Ragharita, your master is welcome in the house of my father!

(Servant goes out. Great excitement. Frau Heinecke draws out the arm-chairs and polishes the mirror.)

Alma. (From the mirror) Is your count young or old? (Robert makes no answer) My eyes are red!--Red as fire, aren't they, Auguste? And he may be young! (She goes out, left)

Michalski. Come, Auguste, we won't disturb the great gentlemen!

Heinecke. Herr Count, I'll say, take a seat in this arm-chair, I'll say! Oh, we know how to act with the nobility!

Frau Heinecke. There was a baron here once--a gentleman friend of Herr Kurt. Don't you remember, Father? He came to ask after Alma--But a count! we never had a count!

Robert. Who did you say had been here, Mother?

(Enter Count Trast, a man between forty and fifty, with gray hair and a long, blond beard. He is dressed with careless foreign elegance. Robert rushes to him and takes his hand.)

Trast. (Aside to Robert) How is this? Hasn't the home fever abated yet! (Aloud) So here we have the long-expected son! (Shakes his hand) Do you know, my fine people, that a sort of foster-son of yours is standing here? The friendship with this dear old comrade of mine gives me almost a right to that title!

(Heinecke tiptoes out of the door.)

Frau Heinecke. Wouldn't the Count like a piece of pound-cake? There is still some there.

Trast. Thanks, I shall be glad--I certainly shall!

(Frau Heinecke curtseys out of the room.)

Trast. You're pale, my boy, and your hands are shaking--what's wrong?

Robert. Oh, nothing! The happiness--the excitement! It's only natural!

Trast. Naturally! (Aside) He's lying! (To Robert) Tell me, how long do you intend to stay here? I want to regulate my stay in this great Europe by that!

Robert. That's impossible, my friend! Our ways will have to part!

Trast. Nonsense!

Robert. I shall ask my employer to give me a position here. The climate in India--you understand----?

Trast. That's pleasant! He doesn't want to leave his mother's apron-strings again, eh?

Robert. Don't make fun of me. Since we're going to part--I have to say it some time--I thank you, you kind old wicked fellow, for all you've done for me. It was the most fortunate moment of my life when you saw me standing feverishly behind my young employer in the Club at Buitenzorg, when he was throwing one hundred-gulden note after the other onto the green cloth.

Trast. Why was I such a fool? If you're going to--Ugh! It isn't decent!

Robert. Trast! don't hurt me. See, I owe everything to you. When I heard your name then--the name of Trast and Company that is known from Yokohama to Aden, I felt as though I were standing before the Kaiser himself!

Trast. Kaiser, by the grace of coffee!

Robert. Muhlingk's undertaking in Batavia was on the road to ruin that minute.

Trast. No wonder, when it had the worst good-for-nothing in the Archipelago for its head.

Robert. There was nothing ahead of me but failure and discharge. And then you took the poor home-sick clerk under your pinion, your name opened a hundred doors for me and I grew up into manhood under your care! And Herr Benno Muhlingk led his merry life as he pleased, and I ran the entire business.

Trast. And the end of the story is that the firm of Muhlingk, along with its clever representative, is a few thousands richer because of us. It's a shame! you ought to have profited by it yourself. Well, I'll open your employer's eyes to the kind of a man you've been! If he doesn't at least make you a partner, I shall declare such a corner in coffee, in my righteous wrath, that the noble German oak-leaf[6] shall be valued as never before. But, seriously, why do you insist on this caprice of remaining with the Muhlingks? I offer you a tremendous salary and a pair of trousers every Christmas. (Robert shakes his head) It isn't only gratitude that makes a man cling to such an insane idea! Of course if the inventory of the firm included a fair German maiden--(Aside) Aha! (To Robert) Speaking of maidens, just listen to what happened to me last night. After we had left each other I wandered aimlessly along the street. A friendly poster invited into a masked ball. A hundred Indian dancers were to present their exciting dance according to the advertisement--well, that is my specialty--I went in. Everything seemed arranged to lead a young monk to forget his oath. And then suddenly there came before me a young girl, tender and fresh as a half-ripe peach. She seemed to be without a partner. I presented myself. Not at all bashful, she begged for a little plaything that hung on my watch-chain, in a little baby voice. It was my patron saint Ganesa, god of success, who rides on a little rat. And I smelled a rat myself. What do you suppose I found beneath her childish innocence? Naif depravity!