like strokes of lightning. So it might still
have been prevented after all; what must come might still have been
hindered! And again it was he, himself--But Apollonius--he saw that in
spite of his confusion--still doubted and could not believe. So he
might still destroy the effects of his madness, might still perhaps
prevent, still hinder what must come, even if it were only for today
and tomorrow. But how? Should he make a wild joke out of the whole
scene? Such jokes were not unusual with him, and in his mind
Apollonius once more became the dreamer of old who believed everything
that was told him. He broke into a laugh, a fearful caricature of the
jovial laugh with which he had formerly been accustomed to reward his
own sallies. That was a confounded joke, that Apollonius could be made
to believe that Fritz Nettenmair was jealous! Jovial Fritz Nettenmair
jealous! Jovial Fritz Nettenmair! And, better still, of him. He had
never heard a more confounded joke than that! He read in his wife's
face how relieved she was at the turn he had given to the scene. He
dared to appeal to her to confirm the fact that it was a confounded
joke. Her "yes" made him still bolder. Now he laughed at his wife who
could be "confounded" enough to reproach him angrily with having made
her dependent on the favor of the man she hated, and explained
laughingly that it was such things that gave rise to little quarrels
in married life. He laughed at Apollonius for taking such a little
dispute so seriously. He asked to be shown the married people who
didn't have such disagreements now and then. It was easy to see that
Apollonius was still a bachelor!

Apollonius heard the councilman's voice in the hall, asking for him;
he went out quickly so that the councilman should not come in and be a
witness to the scene. His brother heard them going away together. He
was far from being reassured yet. When he went out Apollonius' face
had shown that he was still struggling with the thought that had
dawned on him.

Two passions were fighting against each other in Fritz Nettenmair's
soul. The dissolute habit of forgetting himself in drink drew him out
of the house by a hundred chains; jealous fear held him at home with a
thousand talons. If his brother had not yet thought of what he might
have if he liked, he himself had now introduced the thought into his
mind. All day long he turned his fear over and over and did not let
his wife out of his sight. Not until it