They only saw the
young wolf stretched dead on the snow, and the same moment in burst
Ebbo, and flung himself on the floor in a passion of weeping.
Stimulated by the applause of his grandmother and of Matz, he had
furiously pelted the poor animal with all missiles that came to hand,
till a blow, either from him or Matz, had produced such a howl and
struggle of agony, and then such terrible stillness, as had gone to
the young Baron's very heart, a heart as soft as that of his father
had been by nature. Indeed, his sobs were so piteous that his mother
was relieved to hear only, "The wolf! the poor wolf!" and to find
that he himself was unhurt; and she was scarcely satisfied of this
when Dame Kunigunde came up also alarmed, and thus turned his grief
to wrath. "As if I would cry in that way for a bite!" he said. "Go,
grandame; you made me do it, the poor beast!" with a fresh sob.
"Ulrich shall get thee another cub, my child."
"No, no; I never will have another cub! Why did you let me kill it?"
"For shame, Ebbo! Weep for a spiteful brute! That's no better than
thy mother or Friedel.
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