His powerful imagination formed pictures unceasingly
of violent deeds of revenge. He saw himself standing with a smoking
pistol opposite the offender, who fell to the ground with a wound in
his forehead; or he fought with him, and after a long struggle he
suddenly pierced the hussar through the breast with his sword. By
degrees his blood cooled, and with all the strength of his will he
fought against the feelings which he knew formed the brute element
in man, and which with his philosophy he believed he had tamed, and
he said to himself, "No, no fighting. What good would it do? I
should either kill him, or be killed myself. His insulting words
really do me no more harm than the yelping of this little dog who is
running past me. I will not let a remnant of prejudice be stronger
than my judgment."
Although he had come to this resolution, his nerves were still so
unstrung that he could not quiet them alone. He felt he must
unburden himself to some one, so he hastened toward Dr. Schrotter's.
The doctor, however, had not yet returned from his hospital. Wilhelm
soon found the inmates of his friend's household, an old Indian man-
servant and a housekeeper, also an Indian of about thirty-five, with
a yellow face already wrinkled and withered, large dark eyes, and a
gold-piece hanging from her nostrils.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157