“Yes, Max said to me: ‘Now Sinclair has the hardest time before him. He is making an attempt to escape to the community, he has even taken to drinking with the others; but he won’t succeed in that. His sign has become dulled, but it shines secretly.’ Was not that the case?” “Oh yes, it was, exactly. Then I found Beatrice, and finally a guide came to me. His name was Pistorius. For the first time it was clear to me why my boyhood was so bound up with Max’s, why I could not break away from him. Dear lady--dear mother, at that time I often thought I should have to take my life. Is the way so hard for everyone?” She let her fingers stray through my hair, as gently as if a light breeze were blowing. “It is always hard, to be born. You know, it is not without effort that the bird comes out of the egg. Look back and ask yourself: was the way then so hard?--only hard? Was it not beautiful as well? Could you have had one more beautiful, more easy?” I shook my head. “It was hard,” I said, as if in sleep, “it was hard, until the dream came.” She nodded and looked at me penetratingly. “Yes, one must find one’s dream, then the way is easy. But there is no dream which endures for always. Each sets a new one free, to none should one wish to cleave.” I started. Was that already a warning? Was that already a warding-off? But no matter, I was ready to let myself be led by her, and not enquire after the end. “I do not know,” I said, “how long my dream is to last. I wish it would be forever. My fate received me under the picture of the bird, like a mother, and like a mistress. To it I belong and to no one else.” “As long as the dream is your fate, so long must you remain true to it,” she said, in earnest confirmation of my remark. I was very sad, and I wished ardently to die in this hour of enchantment; I felt the tears--for what an interminably long time had I not wept--rise irresistibly and overmaster me. I turned violently away from her. I stepped to the window, and looked out, my eyes blinded with tears, away over the flower-pots. I heard her voice behind me; it rang out calmly and yet was so full of tenderness, like a cup filled to the brim with wine. “Sinclair, what a child you are! Of course your fate loves you. One day it will belong to you entirely, just as you dreamt it, if you remain true to it.” I had composed myself and turned my face to her again. She gave me her hand. “I have a few friends,” she said, smiling, “very few, very close friends, who call me Mother Eve. You may call me so as well, if you like.” She led me to the door, opened it and indicated the garden. “You will find Max out there, I think.”