He nauseated himself with that vile countenance.
Could the thing continue?
What bound him now?
Had he no rights ?--only the obligation to go on, without discharge or furlough, bearing the unbearable?
Ich trage unertragliches, the quotation rose in his mind; he repeated the whole piece, one of the most perfect of the most perfect of poets; and a phrase struck him like a blow: Du, stolzes Herz, A hast es ja gewolit.

Where was the pride of his heart?
And he raged against himself, as a man bites on a sore tooth, in a heady sensuality of scorn.
'I have no pride, I have no heart, no manhood,' he thought, 'or why should I prolong a life more shameful than the gallows?
Or why should I have fallen to it?
No pride, no capacity, no force.

Not even a bandit! and to be starving here with worse than banditti--with this trivial hell-hound!' His rage against his comrade rose and flooded him, and he shook a trembling fist at the sleeper.
A swift step was audible.

The captain appeared upon the threshold of the cell, panting and flushed, and with a foolish face of happiness.

In his arms he carried a loaf of bread and bottles of beer; the pockets of his coat were bulging with cigars.
He rolled his treasures on the floor, grasped Herrick by both hands, and crowed with laughter.
'Broach the beer!' he shouted.