HUGENBERG. That is not true!
RODRIGO. What do you know about it! There, read it: here! (Taking out a paper and pointing to the place.) “The murderess of Dr. Schön....” (Gives Hugenberg the paper. He reads:)
HUGENBERG. “The murderess of Dr. Schön has in some incomprehensible way fallen ill of the cholera in prison.” It doesn't say that she's dead.
RODRIGO. Well, what else do you suppose she is? She's been lying in the churchyard three weeks. Back in the left-hand corner behind the rubbish-heap where the little crosses are with no names on them, there she lies under the first one. You'll know the spot because the grass hasn't grown on it. Hang a tin wreath there, and then get back to your nursery-school or I'll denounce you to the police. I know the female that beguiles her leisure hours with you!
HUGENBERG. (To Alva.) Is it true that she's dead?
ALVA. Thank God, yes!—Please, do not keep me here any longer. My doctor has forbidden me to receive visitors.
HUGENBERG. My future is worth so little now! I would gladly have given the last scrap of what life is worth to me for her happiness. Heigh-ho! One way or another I'll sure go to the devil now!
RODRIGO. If you dare in any way to approach me or the doctor here or my honorable friend Schigolch too near, I'll inform on you for intended arson. You need three good years, to learn where not to stick your fingers in! Now get out!
HUGENBERG. Fool!
RODRIGO. Get out!! (Throws him out the door. Coming down.) I wonder you didn't put your purse at that rogue's disposal, too!