SCHNEIDEKIN. Be good enough to wait, prisoner, until the General
has read the papers on your case.

THE GRAND DUCHESS [to the soldiers]. Let go. [To Strammfest].
Tell them to let go, or I'll upset the bench backwards and bash
our three heads on the floor.

FIRST SOLDIER. No, little mother. Have mercy on the poor.

STRAMMFEST [growling over the edge of the paper he is reading].
Hold your tongue.

THE GRAND DUCHESS [blazing]. Me, or the soldier?

STRAMMFEST [horrified]. The soldier, madam.

THE GRAND DUCHESS. Tell him to let go.

STRAMMFEST. Release the lady.

The soldiers take their hands off her. One of them wipes his
fevered brow. The other sucks his wrist.

SCHNEIDKIND [fiercely]. 'ttention!

The two soldiers sit up stiffly.

THE GRAND DUCHESS. Oh, let the poor man suck his wrist. It may be
poisoned. I bit it.