The woman hid her face in her hands. It was the first time she had heard such a confession from that imperious mouth, and it stirred her to the depths of her nature. Her free spirit had been snatched from the world and confined in a fortress whence there was no escape. Her life was a dead thing, but the blood within her raged in dread and mysterious tumult, inflamed and excited by the power of this man. Her dead soul was afire, and there was nothing left to consume: whence then came this flame? Mabuse left the Countess without saying another word. “I have told her enough,” he said to himself. He threw himself down on his bed, but could not sleep. He felt as if something new had come into his life, till then so steady and changeless, as if the danger which he had always been able to grasp and bring to nought had eluded him and were sinking into the icy black gulf in whose depths his life and actions were grounded. For hours he tried to grapple with this new force and subordinate it to his will, but evermore it seemed to evade him. Then he returned to the Countess, lying fully dressed and sleepless on her bed, and he said, “We must talk matters out. Our fates are entwined, and we must go through life together. From some source or other of my existence my blood has received something which revolts against a peaceful and well-ordered life, and will not permit to others a power above its own. Thus it is that I have become, as it were, the chief of a robber horde. I have known but two states: the desire to dominate and the necessity to hate! But now you have come upon the scene. At first I thought that your spirit would be consumed in the twin flames that inspire mine, but it is not so. Hundreds have been consumed by them, but you seem to feed upon them, and they nourish you. When I am intoxicated, not forgetting my hatred, but putting it on one side for the time being, because there are more beautiful things, I often name to you one name--Citopomar. Citopomar is not the outcome of a disordered fancy, the result of a fit of intoxication. It is a virgin forest in Brazil, far in the interior. It is being cultivated for me. All the money I can wring from this petty community of miserable wretches on this side of the world is being employed there. There is my country, the land in which I shall end my days. First of all, I thought of myself there with my harem. Now I know it is there I shall be with _you_. It is a forty days’ journey to the nearest human dwelling, and the human beings there could not endure life here, but they cannot be reached, for the Botocudos would not let anyone pass. It is even possible that my agents, who have been carrying out my plans, may have deceived me, and that when we arrive there we may find there is no kingdom of Citopomar. But no one can deceive me about _you_!