He whipped me--across the courtyard--out into the street--whipped me like a beast!
Major (after a silence).
Where was your sabre? You could have run him through.
(Fritz silent, with downcast eyes.)
Major.
Where was your sabre, I ask you?
Fritz.
It was--not--at hand, father.
Major.
It was not at hand.... Hm!... Now I understand it all. Surely there is nothing left to wish! And this catastrophe occurred when?