"Thou alone?" he asked again, and his thoughts passed to Bella. There is a woman such as he has never found before. There is courage, power, genius. But in what can even she help him? Nothing. No one.
Then, laying his hand on the dog's head, he thought: "Two bugbears are the worst enemies we have in the world,—fear before the deed, and repentance after it. With these quackeries we squander our existence. He alone is free who fears no future and rues no past."
"I will be free!" cried he.
"I am so within myself; but where will freedom be allowed me? I must go back to America. No, to Italy, to Paris, to new surroundings.
"But the children, the children! They are filled with thoughts which take from them home and parents. Thy best course, after all, is to remain here, to despise mankind, whose hatred will gradually be blunted. Perhaps, too, there may be found some means of appeasing their wrath, which will have a penitent aspect. Was it the Professorin, or I myself, who spoke yesterday of a jury? That's the thing! Come on, World! I am myself again, and nothing else."
High above all these recent occurrences arose again in him the hatred of Crutius.
"How he is now rubbing his hands in his editorial office, where the little gas-jet burns! How he will rejoice at the signal-rocket which has roused the masses! How the riot will figure in the newspapers!"
He now rang, and, sending for Eric, reminded him how he had formerly publicly exalted the gratitude and good manners of the people. Now, he said with a laugh, he must also properly expose their misbehavior; he must, anticipating all other reports, describe the whole thing naturally as an extravagance inspired by the new and effervescent wine. At the close, he must add that Herr Sonnenkamp (for that was his name, lawfully derived from the maternal side of the house) would do something which should correct and satisfy public opinion.
He thought Eric pedantic, for wishing to know at once whether any thing was to be done.
What's the use?