There, I trust my father’s cigars may meet with your approval.
Friebe.
There you are! We shan’t get him away from them all day! (bell rings loudly) Coming—coming! (goes off upstairs).
Mrs Scholz.
Now the wine will soon come to an end!—Good heavens! What are we coming to! All that wine. Always those strong, expensive cigars! I tell you he will ruin himself!
Robert.
Well, it’s a free country!
Mrs Buchner.
What do you mean?