But still they were silent.
Then he felt as if everything to which his belief had hitherto clung was slipping from him, as if the ground were giving way under his feet, as if he himself were dropped into space. He clasped his hands, his teeth chattered, and he stared at them like a man bereft of reason. “Is it possible, then, you are not willing? really not willing? Can’t you understand at all that it is your duty to make amends where you have sinned?... Does not your sense of honor tell you that you may not rob others of their honor?... Does your conscience let you sleep?”
“Stop!” cried Ulrich, who began to feel decidedly uncomfortable.
“No, I will not stop; I cannot go home like this ... really I cannot.... Have you no idea, then, of the mischief you have done ... of the misery that reigns in my home?” and he shuddered at the remembrance of what he had left there. “If you knew that you would not be so hard.... See, Fritz and Ulrich ... I have known you both such a long time.... We have sat together in school ... and together ... we have knelt before the altar ... you always had an ill-will towards me; I have had to bear much from you.... But I will forget everything if only you will make amends for this one thing. You are light-minded, but you are not bad ... you cannot be bad... you, too, have had a mother.... I have seen her... she was standing at our confirmation by the third pillar on the left, and crying just as my mother cried, and my mother—oh, fie!” He interrupted himself, for he felt overwhelmed with shame at having mentioned the name of his saint before these scoundrels; but the fear of having to return home without any consolation made him crazy; but he gulped that down, too, and began again, while his thoughts chased each other through his head. “Only think if you went out now to the cemetery and had sisters ... who had been betrayed ... and you had not watched over those sisters sufficiently ... and you dared not touch the snow that lies on the grave ... and I were the betrayer ... what ... what would you do?”
“We should kill you,” said Ulrich, glancing at him contemptously.
He uttered a piercing cry, for he now realized how deeply he lowered himself—how he had dragged his pride and honor in the dust. With clinched fists he rushed upon Ulrich, but the latter barricaded himself behind the table, and Fritz rushed to the next room to call the servant.
Then he staggered out.
The gate was locked as before. He did not dare go back to have it opened, so, lying down flat, he crept under the fence like a dog.