The Privy Councillor took Mabuse’s arm going downstairs. Mabuse accompanied him to the gentlemen’s cloakroom and then took his leave. One of his cars was waiting in the Maximilianstrasse, and right and left of him at the entrance to the _foyer_ his people were standing in readiness for anything that might happen. Spoerri had taken up his position at the main door of the hall, to keep watch upon the stairs; then he went out behind Mabuse, and the others, who were in small detached groups, always ready to close up at a word, followed them. It was not until Mabuse had taken his seat in the car and driven off that they dispersed, each going a separate way. Driving homeward, Mabuse reflected that he had committed one act of folly. He ought at any rate to have asked when he would be allowed to give his experiments. This fact depressed him, and he felt that he had failed in some way. He would never have done anything so foolish formerly, and the idea occurred to him that perhaps his power was on the decline, and that it was now time for Citopomar. Then suddenly he shouted aloud, “No! this is due to that woman! Wenk wants to hang me, the woman makes me feel old, and she is delivering me over to the gallows.” Why should this woman, young and beautiful as she was, who had abandoned herself to her lot with despairing fatalism, make him feel old? Her abandonment of herself was like wine to him, and this idea started another train of thought. He was in conflict with himself. There was no enjoyment in the thought that he had escaped a great danger, and in the midst of his uneasy reflections he had a sudden breathless conviction that she made him feel old because he loved her. Then he felt a hatred of himself, gathering into one mighty heap all the fierce and bitter hatred he had cherished for others and pouring it out on himself. So strongly did he suffer from the burden of these chaotic feelings that his brain grew giddy. But now he had reached his house. All the wrinkles in his face were deepened and intensified, but it was his eyes that looked most dreadful, and the Countess trembled as he entered her room. No longer were they of the steely grey of an agate, but rather seemed shot with rays of copper colour. “What has happened?” she asked. Then he told her something quite different from that which he had meant to tell her. “Do you know who I am?” he asked, and his tone was one of frenzied delirium. “I am a werwolf; I suck man’s blood. Every day my hatred burns up all the blood in my veins, and every night I fill them again by sucking the blood of some human being. If men caught me, they would tear me into little bits. I will bite through your white throat, you tormenting witch!” The Countess started as if stung, and, mad with pain and torture, cried aloud, “Kill me then! What could be better than death?” “But I love you!” cried the voice of the man beside her, who seemed to be possessed by devils.