But now as to what it was that I saw, gentlemen. The two young people were sitting still and stiff on their chairs, as before, but they had, so to speak, dipped their eyes into each other's, and there was a wild, despairing, insane glow in them such as I had never thought could shine out of human eyes. It was like two flames darting sparks into each other. So there I was. Not yet my wife, and already my friend, my son, my favourite, betraying me with her. Adultery in the house even before the marriage had really been consummated. In that look my whole future--an existence of suspicion, and dread and gloom and ridicule, full of grey days and sleepless nights--lay unrolled before me like a map. What was I to do, gentlemen? My impulse was to take her by the hand and say to him, "She's yours, my boy. I have no longer any right over her." But please put yourselves in my position. A look is something intangible and undemonstrable. It may be denied with a smile. And, after all, might I not have been mistaken? And while I revolved this in my mind, the two pairs of eyes continued to cling to each other in complete oblivion of everything about them. When I walked into the room, there was not even a twitch of an eyelid. They even turned toward me as if in surprise and indignation and as if to ask: "Why does this old man, this stranger, intrude upon us?" I felt inclined to roar out like a wounded beast. However, I collected myself and offered the cigars. But I felt I had to put an end to the business quickly. All kinds of red suns were beginning to dance in front of my eyes. So I said, "Go home, my boy, it's time." He rose heavily, gave me an icy handshake, and made his lieutenant's bow to her with joined heels, and turned towards the door. Then I heard a cry--a cry that pierced me to the quick. And what did I see? My wife, my young wife, lying at his feet, holding on to his coat with both hands, and crying, "You must not die! You must not die!" Well, gentlemen, the catastrophe at last! For a moment I stood like a man hit over the head. Then I caught Lothar by the collar. "Stop, my boy," I said, "that's enough. I won't have any tricks played on me." Still holding his collar I led him gently back to his seat, closed the doors, and lifted my wife, who was lying on the floor weeping convulsively, to a couch. But she caught my hands and started to kiss them, whimpering, "Don't let him go! He wants to kill himself--he wants to kill himself!" "And why do you want to kill yourself, my boy?" said I. "If you had prior rights to mine, why did you not assert them? Why did you deceive your best friend?" He pressed his hands to his forehead and remained silent. Then I fell into a rage and said, "Say something, or I'll knock you down like a mad dog!" "Do it," he said, stretching out his arms. "I have deserved nothing better." "Deserved or not--now you must tell me what all this means."