Frau Heinecke. Ain't I right?
Trast. (Takes her hands in his) A mother is always right. She has suffered and loved too much to be anything else. (Shakes her hand)
Frau Heinecke. But, Count! You shake hands with a poor old woman!
Trast. I have sinned against the mothers, and I must beg forgiveness. And my own not the least. There are worse sons, than yours, my dear woman.
(Robert takes out a leather portfolio, looks through it, and lays it aside. Then he takes out a revolver which he tests.)
Trast. (Aside) Ah, a revolver! This is how he's going to settle accounts!
(Robert, seeing he is observed, quickly hides the revolver in his breast pocket. He takes his hat and portfolio and comes forward.)
Robert. Now I'm ready!
Trast. I'll go with you.
Robert. You?