"Meaning one's self?" asked Herr Süssmilch.
"Meaning one's self."
"One is altogether mistaken," he replied, having by this time cleared away the things. "In the prison one is compelled to work, unless one has a father or some one who will pay for his keep. In this case one has a father, and gets from him ten silbergroschen daily."
"Herr Süssmilch," I cried, stepping up to the old man, "I take for granted that you are telling me the truth; and now I give you my word that I will rather starve in the dungeon like a rat, than take a penny from my father."
"One will be of another way of thinking to-morrow."
"Never."
"Then one will have to work."
"We shall see about that."
"Yes, we shall see."
Süssmilch went, but stopped at the door, and remarked over his shoulder: