Hauteville.  The very moment that public virtue loses its credit, the secret vices will drop in market value.

Stroebel.  What are you talking about anyway?

Hauteville.  I’m telling you why both of us must hush things up.

Stroebel.  Then you are not convinced that there is a real public morality?

Hauteville.  You mean that morality which you put on with your street clothes?  I know it well.  Gentlemen take it off in my apartment and hang it up in my wardrobe, and there I can inspect it very thoroughly.  It is truly remarkable how our respected gentlemen still make formal social visits in costumes which have so often been patched.

Reisacher [who up to this point apparently—­without paying any attention, has been sitting with his back toward them, turns half way round].  Pardon me, Herr Assessor.

Stroebel [impatiently].  Now what do you want?

Reisacher.  Pardon me, Herr Assessor, shall I put all this talk into the minutes?

Stroebel.  No, I will dictate to you later. [To Hauteville.] You know that you are not here to amuse yourself.

Hauteville.  I know that.

Stroebel.  Listen to me quietly.  You hinted before that if we kept you here another night you would confess everything.  Well I tell you here and now that we will not keep you here one, but a number of nights.  You can ease your conscience at once.

Hauteville.  I would only make yours the heavier for it.

Stroebel.  My conscience?

Hauteville.  Yes, if I tell you here, there will be no possibility of a mistake, but everything must remain a mistake.

Stroebel.  I have patience with you, but I will not let you fool me.  Now get yourself together and consider every word.  What must remain a mistake?

Hauteville.  Everything that has happened since Saturday night.

Stroebel.  All that must remain a mistake?

Hauteville.  It simply must not have happened.  No one broke into my apartment.  No one arrested me.  No one compelled anyone to hide in the wardrobe.

Stroebel [shouts.] And no one ever saw such an insolent female.

Hauteville.  This browbeating.

Stroebel.  It is meant for such as you.

Hauteville. [indignantly stopping her ears].  It reminds one so much of the tin plates and the comb.

Stroebel [angrily pacing the room].  I never heard anything like it.  Picture it!  She makes insinuations as though we had something to be afraid of. [He stops pacing and faces her.] You evidently imagine that the whole government would run away from you.

Hauteville.  No, but it ran away from your Lieutenant.

Stroebel.  Where?

Hauteville.  Into the wardrobe.