"What?" cried Jochen, setting himself up, far the first time in his life, against his wife. "Cannot I make a speech? They all make speeches, Herr von Rambow makes speeches, Pomuchelskopp, Bräsig talks in the Reform-what? am I not good enough?"--and he brought down his fist on the table,--"wife, am I not master? And shall I not talk about my geese?"
Frau Nüssler turned quite pale, stood there stiffly, looking Jochen in the eye, but said not a word, pressed one hand against her heart, and felt with the other after the door-latch behind her, and when she found it opened the door, and went out backwards, still with her eyes fastened upon Jochen,--as a lion-tamer does, when he sees that the beast has lost its respect for him. But, when she was outside, she threw herself down on a bench in the hall, and began to cry and sob terribly. Yes, the year 1848 was a dreadful year, no government was secure; even in this, open revolt had broken out.
Bräsig came down stairs, singing and whistling; but how suddenly he ceased, when he saw his old treasure in her grief!
"May you keep the nose on your face! What has happened? At this time of day, Frau Nüssler, half-past six, do you sit down and cry?" With that he threw himself on the bench beside her, and tried to pull away the apron from her face. Frau Nüssler pushed away his hands. "Frau Nüssler, I beg you, for God's sake, tell me what is the matter."
At last Frau Nüssler said, with a heavy sigh, "Jochen!"
"Good heavens!" cried Bräsig, "he was perfectly well yesterday. Is he dead?"
"No indeed;" cried Frau Nüssler, taking away the apron, and turning her red eyes upon Bräsig, "but he has gone crazy!"
"God forbid!" exclaimed Bräsig, springing to his feet, "what has he been doing?"
"He is going to make a speech."
"What? Young Jochen make a speech? That is a bad sign!"