On the road, to the right, he passed the tumble-down seat of the Neuhaus family, who rack-rented their tenants to stave off bankruptcy. A little further on was Althof, where fat Hans Sembritzky was gradually developing into the worst of husbands through having too easy a time.
All was vain and rotten. Life was a hollow mockery, and he whistled contemptuously as he adopted the embittered attitude of the abandoned outcast towards the world he was leaving. Aye, to quit it was the only wisdom. For everything else was folly, even Ulrich's ... Hush! he must not think of Ulrich.
The blow would kill him, that was certain. Not the strongest could survive such a betrayal. All he could do to soften it would be to leave behind a few hasty lines, alluding to the old sin, but not to the renewal of the old love. Ah, why had Ulrich committed the insane folly of marrying a woman who belonged by nature to a scamp like himself? No, he must not, could not think of Ulrich.
How charming she had looked in her mourning weeds. Like a nun in a novel. With what tactful care she had avoided mentioning Ulrich's name, as if no such person as Ulrich existed. And it had not occurred to her either to waste a word or a tear on the poor little fellow in his distant grave.
He was dead, and forgotten before the grass had grown over him. Dead and forgotten as he, Leo Sellenthin, would soon be dead and forgotten. Well, the only thing that mattered now was that fair-haired Ida should be paid for the absinth.
First he went to pay his debts at the Prussian Crown, and found two or three of his recent associates there, fat Hans, of course, among them. They were busily engaged playing games of dice of their own invention over their glasses of flat beer. They played "The Naked Sparrow," and "The Highest House-number" at six-pfenning points.
Leo was greeted with a roar of welcome, and asked to join. He answered with sudden reckless indiscretion: "My boys, I am going to shoot myself to-morrow, so I don't know whether I ought."
They considered the question seriously, then the majority agreed that it would be permissible for him to play if the games chosen bore on the gravity of the situation. So they forthwith proposed, "The Wet Funeral," "The Corpse in the Forest," and because they could not think of anything else particularly sad, "The Hole in the Ceiling."
Leo made his throws, and cracked his jokes, but all the time a voice cried triumphantly in his ear, "Die, old boy, die--die."
When he had lost the game and paid up, he explained that he had business to settle with the fair Ida, and as it was dark, the others offered to accompany him. Leo took the lead. He pushed open the swing-door of Engelmann's beer-cellar, and found in the hot little room, reeking with smoke, a table full of toping bailiffs and farmers.