My wife, my young wife, lying at his feet, holding on to his coat with both hands, and crying, "You must not die! You must not die!"
Well, gentlemen, the catastrophe at last!
For a moment I stood like a man hit over the head. Then I caught Lothar by the collar.
"Stop, my boy," I said, "that's enough. I won't have any tricks played on me."
Still holding his collar I led him gently back to his seat, closed the doors, and lifted my wife, who was lying on the floor weeping convulsively, to a couch.
But she caught my hands and started to kiss them, whimpering, "Don't let him go! He wants to kill himself--he wants to kill himself!"
"And why do you want to kill yourself, my boy?" said I. "If you had prior rights to mine, why did you not assert them? Why did you deceive your best friend?"
He pressed his hands to his forehead and remained silent.
Then I fell into a rage and said, "Say something, or I'll knock you down like a mad dog!"
"Do it," he said, stretching out his arms. "I have deserved nothing better."