HOFFMANN

Oh, but mother, I must really beg of you to control--

MRS. KRAUSE

[_Doubly enraged._] Instead o' sich a crittur takin' a hand on the
farm.... God forbid! She pulls her sheets 'way over her ears. But her
Schillers and her Goethes and sich like stinkin' dogs--that can't do
nothin' but lie; they c'n turn her head. It's enough to make you sick!

[_She stops, quivering with rage._

HOFFMANN

[_Trying to pacify her._] Well, well--she will be all right now ...
perhaps it wasn't quite right ... perhaps....

[_He beckons to HELEN, who in her excitement has drawn aside, and the
girl, fighting down her tears, returns to her place._

HOFFMANN

[_Interrupting the painful silence that has followed, to LOTH._] Ah, yes
... what were we talking about? To be sure, of good old alcohol. [_He
raises his glass._] Well, mother, let us have peace. Come,--we'll drink a
toast in peace, and honour alcohol by being peaceful. [_MRS. KRAUSE,
although somewhat rebelliously, clinks glasses with him._] What, Helen,
and your glass is empty.... I say, Loth, you've made a proselyte.