SCHÖN. (Lifting the portières.) What flew out of here?
LULU. You're suffering from persecution-mania.
SCHÖN. Have you got still more men hidden here? (Tearing the revolver from her.) Is yet another man calling on you? (Going left.) I'll regale your men! (Throws up the window curtains, flings the fire-screen back, grabs Countess Geschwitz by the collar and drags her forward.) Did you come down the chimney?
GESCHWITZ. (In deadly terror, to Lulu.) Save me from him!
SCHÖN. (Shaking her.) Or are you, too, an acrobat?
GESCHWITZ. (Whimpering.) You hurt me.
SCHÖN. (Shaking her.) Now you will have to stay to dinner. (Drags her right, shoves her into the next room and locks the door after her.) We want no town-criers. (Sits next Lulu and makes her take the revolver again.) There's still enough for you in it. Look at me! I cannot assist the coachman in my house to decorate my forehead for me. Look at me! I pay my coachman. Look at me! Am I doing the coachman a favor when I can't stand the stable-stench?
LULU. Have the carriage got ready! Please! We're going to the opera.
SCHÖN. We're going to the devil! Now I am coachman. (Turning the revolver in her hand from himself to Lulu's breast.) Think you we let ourselves be mistreated as you mistreat me, and hesitate between a galley-slave's shame at the end of life and the merit of freeing the world of you? (Holds her down by the arm.) Come, get through. It will be the gladdest remembrance of my life. Pull the trigger!
LULU. You can get a divorce.