ALVA. You've a poor knowledge of men.
LULU. You get out an extra yourself!
SCHÖN. (With passionate indignation.) He had no moral sense! (Suddenly controlling himself again.) Paris in revolution—?
ALVA. Our editors act as though they'd been struck. Everything has stopped dead.
SCHÖN. That's got to help me over this! Now if only the police would come. The minutes are worth more than gold. (The bell rings in the corridor.)
ALVA. There they are— (Schön starts to the door. Lulu jumps up.)
LULU. Wait, you've got blood—
SCHÖN. Where?
LULU. Wait, I'll wipe it. (Sprinkles her handkerchief with heliotrope and wipes the blood from Schön's hand.)
SCHÖN. It's your husband's blood.