Struebel.
(_Singing, as_ Rosa _brings him a glass of beer._)
"Beer--beer!"--Heavens and earth, how hot it is! (_Drinks._)
Frau Lindemann.
If you find it so hot, why don't you stay quietly down there at the
Springs?
Struebel.
Ah, my soul thirsts for the heights--my soul thirsts for the heights
every afternoon. Just as soon as ever my sallow-faced pupil has thrown
himself down on the couch to give his red corpuscles a chance to grow,
"I gayly grasp my Alpine staff and mount to my beloved."
Frau Lindemann (_scornfully_).
Bah!
Struebel.
Oh, you're thinking that _you_ are my beloved? No, dearest: my beloved
stays down there. But to get nearer to her, I have to come up here--up
to your telescope. With the aid of your telescope I can look right into
her window--see?
Rosa (_laughing_).