"Let the man alone! He has done worse mischief here;" and she related what had happened.
Bräsig was angry, exceedingly angry, over the injury which he had received, but when he heard this he was angry beyond measure; he stormed up and down the room, and made use of language for which the Frau Pastorin would have reproved him severely, had she not been very angry herself; at last he thrust himself into the sofa corner, and sat, without saying a word, looking straight before him.
The Pastor entered, his Regina looked at him inquiringly.
"She is watering the flowers," he said, as if to compose her, and he walked in his quiet way, up and down the room, finally turning toward Bräsig. "What are you thinking of, dear friend?"
"Hell-fire! I am thinking about hell-fire, Herr Pastor!"
"Why of that?" asked the Pastor.
But instead of replying, Bräsig sprang to his feet, and said:
"Tell me, Herr Pastor, is it true that there are mountains that vomit fire?"
"Certainly," said the Pastor.
"And are they good or bad for mankind?"