And they flew within the four bare walls of Avarice，where， lean， chattering with cold， hungry and thirsty，the old one clung to his gold with all his thoughts;they saw how he sprang from his miserable couch，as in a fever， and took a loose stone out of the wall， where gold-money lay in a stoking-leg;he fingered his patched coat into which gold pieces were sewn， and the moist fingers trembled.
“He is ill，it is madness，a joyless madness，beset with fear and evil dreams.”
And they departed in haste，and stood by the couch-Es of the criminals where they slept in long rows， side by side.
Like a wild animal， one of them started up out of his sleep，uttering a horrid shriek;he dug his pointed elbow into his comrade， who turned sleepily.
“Hold your tongue， you blockhead，and sleep!—it is the same every night!”
“Every night，” he repeated，“yes， every night he comes and howls and suffocates me.In passion have I done one thing and another， an angry mind was I born with; it has brought me here a second time;but if I have done wrong，then I have had my punishment.Only one thing have I not acknowledged. When I last came out of here and passed my master's farm，one thing and another boiled up in me，—I scratched a sulfur match along the wall， it ran a little too near the thatch of the roof， everything burned.Passion came over it， as it comes over me.I helped to save the cattle and effects.Nothing living was burned but a flock of pigeons，which flew into the fire，and the watch-dog. I had not thought of it. One could hear it howling，and that howl I always hear still，when I want to sleep，and when I fall asleep， then comes the dog， so big and shaggy; he lays himself on me， howls， presses me，and suffocates me. Then listen to what I tell you; you can snore， snore the whole night， and I not a short quarter of an hour.” And the blood shone in his eyes， he threw himself over his comrade and hit him with clenched fist in the face.