“So they allowed themselves to be decorated with stars by others, while my sisters are in misery!”
“But first I will speak a few home words to them,” he muttered, seized hold by the shoulder of Ulrich, who sat on his side, and shook him violently, so that his head rolled from side to side.
Ulrich started from sleep, and when he saw the dark figure of Paul, with the revolver in his hand, standing close behind him, he began to cry out loud and piteously. The other one woke up as well, and both stretched out their arms in pitiful entreaty.
“What do you mean to do to us?” cried the one,
“Do not murder us!” cried the other.
“Put away your revolver. Have pity on us—have pity!” They clasped their hands, and would have fallen on their knees had not the fur rugs prevented them.
Paul looked at them in amazement. He had always seen them daring and eager for fight, so that now in their terror they seemed to him like entirely different people.
He wished in his heart that they would draw their knives against him, so that he could make use of his revolver in an honest fight. And then suddenly the thought arose in his mind: “If you had only once treated them like this when they were boys, you would have been spared many a humiliation—and your sisters, above all.”
Ulrich meanwhile tried to clasp his knees, and Fritz kept on crying out, “Take pity on us—take pity on us!”
“You know very well what I want of you,” answered Paul, who now felt freed from all hesitation, and with cold resolution pursued his aim.