VON KLEBS.

We are under a curse, my dear madam. We are bearing a penance. [_They sit_.]

BECKMANN.

But you must know dall' Orto, the great Italian Wagner singer. We are very fortunate in getting her for the festival. If she were not here--

VON KLEBS.

Well, well, what if she were not? Eh? I hoped that our strictly moral circle, at least, would hold itself aloof from all this. But since the Governor gives receptions in the lady's honor! And, best of all, to cap the climax, who do you think was standing to-day among the enthusiasts, craning his neck like the rest? You'll never guess. It's too inconceivable. The pastor!

SCHWARTZE.

The pastor?

VON KLEBS.

Yes, our pastor.

SCHWARTZE.

How extraordinary!

VON KLEBS.

Now, I ask you, what did he want there? And what did the others want there? And what good is the whole festival?

BECKMANN.

I should think that the cultivation of the faculty of the ideal among the people was an object--

VON KLEBS.

The way to cultivate the faculty of the ideal is to found a Soldiers'

Union.

SCHWARTZE.

But, General, every one isn't so lucky as to be a soldier.

VON KLEBS.

[_Sorting his cards_.] Well, we have been, Colonel. I know no one, I wish to know no one, who has not been a soldier. And all this so-called Art,--what good does it do?

BECKMANN.

Art raises the moral tone of the people.

VON KLEBS.

There we have it, madam!--We're beaten, beaten by the hero of Koniggratz.--I tell you Art is a mere invention of those who are afraid to be soldiers to gain an important position for themselves. I pa.s.s.

SCHWARTZE.

I pa.s.s.

BECKMANN.

And will you maintain that Art-- I have the nine of spades.

[_Bell rings. Exit_ Marie. Von Klebs _makes an impatient movement_.

Schwartze _quiets him. They begin to play_.]

_Enter_ Franziska, _followed by the_ Pastor.

VON KLEBS.

Ah, Miss Franziska! [_Aside_] That is the end of us!

SCHWARTZE.

No, no, we'll send her into the garden.

FRANZISKA.

[_Throwing herself into a chair_.] Oh, I am so hot! I must get my breath. Pray don't put yourself out, General.

BECKMANN.

Nine of spades!

VON KLEBS.

h.e.l.lo, here's the pastor too!

HEFFTERDINGT.

Good-day to you! [_He shakes hands with each_.]

VON KLEBS.

How long have you been running after the singers. Pastor?

HEFFTERDINGT.

What? Oh, yes. Yes, I am running after singers. That's my occupation now.

SCHWARTZE.