Albert—Why don't you wear gloves?
Alexandra—I usually do.
Albert—And . . . yet you prick yourself?
Alexandra—Yes, through the gloves. [A pause.]
Albert—You ought to wear thicker gloves.
Alexandra—Yes, I must try thicker ones.
Albert—C'est ça! That's life. One must be on one's guard.
Beatrice—That's perfectly true! How good of you to be interested. Fancy! Such practical advice too!
Albert—[Modestly.] Oh, not at all . . . only . . . you see . . . one picks up a bit of experience here and there . . . what? [A pause, and then he rises suddenly. They all stand up too.] Well now, let's have a look at the boys. Is this your classroom?
Arsen—Yes.
Albert—You are sixteen, aren't you?
Arsen—Yes.
Albert—And you are seventeen?
Georg—Yes.
Albert—Time flies. They are popping up fast, what?
Beatrice—Indeed, yes, Albert.
Albert—You doubtless suppose that I shall examine you, like a school inspector.
