hear? (Looks at his watch.)
Servant.—In a quarter of an hour I’ll be back. (Goes towards vestibule.)
Vlasák (Calls to her).—See that you don’t stop anywhere on the way!
Fořt (In the meantime remains standing near the writing desk from which he takes a photograph at which he is now gazing).—Well, I declare, Miss Lindner!
Vlasák (Hastily).—Yes, yes! Fine photograph, isn’t it?
Fořt (Stupidly).—I also asked her for a photograph—but there wasn’t any chance!
Vlasák (Forcing a laugh).—Oh, everyone hasn’t that much luck!
Fořt (Laughing).—You, you!
Servant (In the vestibule).—He’s at home, yes. He just arrived. (Talking outside.) My gracious master, that gentleman is here.
Vlasák (Angrily).—Haven’t you gone yet? (With great impatience) Lord! (Startled.) Who’s here?
Dušek (Enters, wearing an elegant winter overcoat, snow-covered) Am I interrupting?
Vlasák (With forced agreeableness).—Oh, is it you? How do you do?
Fořt.—Ah, the Maestro Dušek? What do you want here?
Dušek (Disagreeably surprised at Fořt’s presence).—Ah, the doctor has a caller!
Fořt.—I’m going—I’m going! You have secrets with the doctor? A patron, eh?
Dušek (Laughs).—Of course!
Fořt.—Well, nine months ago. . . (Observes Dušek’s displeasure).—Well, I’m off—I’m off. Your servant doctor; don’t forget to tell the landlord. Good luck, Dušek, good luck to you! (Departs.)
(Vlasák accompanies him.)
(Dušek in the meantime divests himself of his overcoat, removes a white handkerchief from around his throat and arranges all together with his hat, on the divan.)
Vlasák (Returns).—You must pardon me, Mr. Dušek, for hastening so. . . I am to be in Smichov by six.
Dušek.—Oh, I’ve come at the wrong time, then? Pardon me, if I had known . . . But I would so much like to talk with you!
