He opened a door. The room was empty. On the other side, a second door, ajar. Voices behind it. The voice of his father and that of another.... Freder suddenly stood still. His feet seemed to be nailed to the floor. The upper part of his body was bent stiffly forwards. His fists dangled on helpless arms, seeming no longer capable of freeing themselves from their own clench. He listened; the eyes in his white face were filled with blood, the lips were open as though forming a cry. Then he tore his deadened feet from the floor, stumbled to the door and pushed it open.... In the middle of the room, which was filled with a cutting brightness, stood Joh Fredersen, holding a woman in his arms. And the woman was Maria. She was not struggling. Leaning far back in the man’s arms, she was offering him her mouth, her alluring mouth, that deadly laugh.... “You...!” shouted Freder. He dashed to the girl. He did not see his father. He saw only the girl—no, neither did he see the girl, only her mouth and her sweet, wicked laugh. Joh Fredersen turned around, broad and menacing. He let the girl go. He covered her with the might of his shoulders, with the great cranium, flamed with blood, and in which the strong teeth and the invincible eyes were very visible. But Freder did not see his father. He only saw an obstacle between him and the girl. He rushed at the obstacle. It pushed him back. Scarlet hatred for the obstacle choked him. His eyes flew around. They sought an implement—an implement which could be used as a battering ram. He found none. Then he threw himself forward as a battering ram. His fingers clutched into stuff. He bit into the stuff. He heard his own breath like a whistle, very high and shrill. Yet within him there was only one sound, only one cry: “Maria—!” Groaningly, beseechingly: “Maria—!!” A man dreaming of hell shrieks out no more, in his torment, than did he. And still, between him and the girl, the man, the lump of rock, the living wall.... He threw his hands forward. Ah ... look! ... there was a throat! He seized the throat. His fingers snapped fast like iron fangs. “Why don’t you defend yourself?” he yelled, staring at the man. “I’ll kill you—! I’ll take your life—! I’ll murder you—!” But the man before him held his ground while he throttled him. Thrown this way and that by Freder’s fury, the body bent, now to the right, now to the left. And as often as this happened Freder saw, as through a transparent mist, the smiling countenance of Maria, who, leaning against the table, was looking on with her sea water eyes at the fight between father and son. His father’s voice said: “Freder....” He looked the man in the face. He saw his father. He saw the hands which were clawing around his father’s throat. They were his, were the hands of his son.