- Schneidekind splutters; drops a paper: and conceals his laughter under the table.
STRAMMFEST [thunderously]. Lieutenant Schneidekind.
SCHNEIDEKIND [in a stifled voice]. Yes, Sir. [The table vibrates visibly.]
STRAMMFEST. Come out of it, you fool: you're upsetting the ink.
- Schneidekind emerges, red in the face with suppressed mirth.
STRAMMFEST. Why don't you laugh? Don't you appreciate Her Imperial Highness's joke?
SCHNEIDEKIND [suddenly becoming solemn]. I don't want to, sir.
STRAMMFEST. Laugh at once, sir. I order you to laugh.
SCHNEIDEKIND [with a touch of temper]. I really can't, sir. [He sits down decisively.]
STRAMMFEST [growling at him]. Yah! [He turns impressively to the Grand Duchess.] Your Imperial Highness desires me to address you as comrade?
THE GRAND DUCHESS [rising and waving a red handkerchief]. Long live the Revolution, comrade!
STRAMMFEST [rising and saluting]. Proletarians of all lands, unite. Lieutenant Schneidekind, you will rise and sing the Marseillaise.
SCHNEIDEKIND [rising]. But I cannot, sir. I have no voice, no ear.
STRAMMFEST. Then sit down; and bury your shame in your typewriter. [Schneidekind sits down.] Comrade Annajanska, you have eloped with a young officer.
THE GRAND DUCHESS [astounded]. General Strammfest, you lie.
STRAMMFEST. Denial, comrade, is useless. It is through that officer that your movements have
