face. "I love mother and I love Uncle
'Lonius, but I don't like you. Let me alone; I'll tell Uncle 'Lonius."

Fritz Nettenmair laughed in wild mockery, and at the same time sobbed
in impotent pain. The children were no longer his. He was no longer
their father. Yet they were his children! And he had to go away and
leave them; and those whom he hated, who had ruined everything for
him, would be happy through his going. He became even more miserable
than he had already been. He saw his wife lying before him in her
beauty, and the desire entered his mind to destroy this beauty. But
his recollection of the moment when he lay stretched before his
father, prepared for death, was mightier than the desire and banished
it. The picture of that moment lived strong within him, only there was
an exchange of persons. He painted it with more and more vivid colors.
And now it was a fierce joy that drove him again from the house to the
shed and from the shed to the house. His arms moved in violent
gesticulation. The moon rose. The house with the green shutters lay
there so peaceful in its shimmer. No passer-by would have divined the
unrest concealed behind its walls; none would have suspected the
thought that hell was brewing there in a ruined vessel.

* * * * *
Apollonius was exhausted from watching and struggling. He needed
rest. The next morning he had to complete the garlanding of the
tower-roof, and then take down his swinging-seat, block and pulley,
iron ring and ladder. His step must be firm, his eye clear. For the
single hour that remained before work was to begin, he did not wish to
undress and go to bed. He sat down in his wooden chair. There sleep
came to him sooner than he expected--but it was not the kind of sleep
he needed; it was an uninterrupted disturbing dream. Christiane lay in
his arms as she had lain the day before; he struggled again, but this
time he did not conquer, he clasped her to him. When he opened his
eyes, it was day and time to go to work. He was in a more excited
state of mind than when he had left his father. He hoped that the
visions of his dream which had intensified his old desires and his
pangs of conscience concerning them would retreat before the fresh
morning air and the sobering effect of a cold water rub. But this did
not happen; they stayed with him and would not let go of him, not even
during his work. The breath of her warm lips lingered on his cheek, he
fe