"He has lost his wits," said one of the friends.

"It is a fit of madness," answered another, "such as he was seized
with at the examination, when he only sent in a scrap of white
paper for the mathematical examination, because he felt himself
offended by the inspector."

"I could quite vex myself about my stupid joke," said Wilhelm. "I
ought to have known him better; he is of a strange, unhappy
character. Give me your hands! We will mention to no one what has
occurred; it would only give occasion to a deal of gossip, and
wound him deeply, and he is an excellent, glorious fellow."

They gave their hands upon it, and drove toward the city.

The same day, toward evening, we again seek Otto. We find him in
his chamber. Silent, with crossed arms, he stands before a print, a
copy of Horace Vernet's representation of Mazeppa, who, naked and
bound upon a wild horse, rushes through the forest. Wolves thrust
forth their heads and exhibit their sharp teeth.

"My own life!" sighed Otto. "I also am bound to this careering wild
horse. And no friend, not a single one! Wilhelm, I could kill thee!
I could see you all lying in your blood! O, Almighty God!" He
pressed his hands before his face and threw himself into a seat;
his eyes, however, again directed themselves toward the picture; it
exhibited a moment similar to the condition of his own mind.

The door now opened, and Wilhelm stood before him.