Landlord. [Entering] You will pardon me, Herr Lassalle—but the mother and sister of the Fraulein are in the parlor below. They had spies follow her—it is all a misunderstanding, I know. But the young lady should—you will pardon me, both—should not be here with you. She will have to go. I declared to her mother that she was not here; the porter told her otherwise. The police are at the entrance, and you understand I can not afford to have a scene. Will the Fraulein be so good as to go below and meet her mother?
Helene. My mother! I have no mother.
Landlord. You will excuse me if I insist.
[Lassalle starts toward the landlord as if he would throttle him. Then bethinks himself and smiles.]
Lassalle. Certainly, kind sir, she will go, and I will go with her. We will excuse you now!
[Puts hands on shoulder and half-pushes landlord out of the door. Closes door.]
Helene. [In terror] What shall I do?
Lassalle. Do? Why, there is only one thing to do—meet your mother and sister. I will go, too. [Adjusts his collar and puts on his vest and coat] There, I am ready—we go!
Helene. You do not know them. It is death.
Lassalle. Nonsense! Have I not addressed a mob and won? Do you trust me?