Paul. My head is clearer than ever, Hella! Don't go to any further trouble! I can see my way quite plainly now.
Hella (retreats to the sofa, embittered). And now that old trumpery must interfere too!
[Inspector stands at the door with Glyszinski, motions to those outside. A brief silence, then singing to the accompaniment of the pot harp. The lines run as follows:]
We wish our dear lord
At his board, a full dish,
And at all four corners
A brown roasted fish:
A crown for our dame;
When the year's course is run
The joy of all joys,
A lusty young son.
Hella. Will that continue much longer, Paul?
[Paul gets up, motions to the inspector and goes out with him. The door is closed behind them. The muffled tones of the pot harp and the singing can still be heard, but the text becomes unintelligible. Glyszinski, who also has been listening till now, starts to go out.]
Hella (from the sofa). One moment, Doctor!
Glyszinski (absent-minded). Were you calling me?
Hella. Why, yes, now that you are here, I might as well make use of the occasion.
Glyszinski (approaches, somewhat reserved). What can I do for you, madam?