“I knew very well that I was a miserable coward,” he thought to himself, “and should never have the courage for it. I am not even good enough to commit murder.” “But I will do it yet,” he murmured, stepped back a few paces, and aimed direct at Ulrich’s breast; but he did not pull the trigger, for he inwardly feared he might hurt the sleeping man. “Shall I do it all the same?” he thought, when he had stood for some while in this position. And then he began to picture to himself what would happen when he had done it and both were lying dead before him. “Either I must shoot myself as well, and leave my father and sisters behind me in misery, or instead of shooting myself I should give myself tip to justice to-morrow; then the misery at home would be just as great.” “It is madness, in any case”--so he ended his reflections--“but I shall do it all the same.” And suddenly he saw under Ulrich’s fur, which had been a little turned back from his breast, a sparkling array of tinsel stars, such as ladies fasten onto gentlemen’s coats in the cotillon. “So they allowed themselves to be decorated with stars by others, while my sisters are in misery!” “But first I will speak a few home words to them,” he muttered, seized hold by the shoulder of Ulrich, who sat on his side, and shook him violently, so that his head rolled from side to side. Ulrich started from sleep, and when he saw the dark figure of Paul, with the revolver in his hand, standing close behind him, he began to cry out loud and piteously. The other one woke up as well, and both stretched out their arms in pitiful entreaty. “What do you mean to do to us?” cried the one, “Do not murder us!” cried the other. “Put away your revolver. Have pity on us--have pity!” They clasped their hands, and would have fallen on their knees had not the fur rugs prevented them. Paul looked at them in amazement. He had always seen them daring and eager for fight, so that now in their terror they seemed to him like entirely different people. He wished in his heart that they would draw their knives against him, so that he could make use of his revolver in an honest fight. And then suddenly the thought arose in his mind: “If you had only once treated them like this when they were boys, you would have been spared many a humiliation--and your sisters, above all.” Ulrich meanwhile tried to clasp his knees, and Fritz kept on crying out, “Take pity on us--take pity on us!” “You know very well what I want of you,” answered Paul, who now felt freed from all hesitation, and with cold resolution pursued his aim. “What do you want? say, what do you want? We’ll do all you want!” cried Ulrich; and Fritz, who tried to hide behind his brother, seemed suddenly speechless.