And suddenly there came over him, like an icy blast in all its pitiless severity, the full meaning of what he had done. He had done it, he really had put cards at the bottom of the pack and then drawn them when he wanted them, and with these he had won money. Yet he had not desired to win money! What could have happened? Was there no help anywhere? He had done something against his will. His act had thrust him out of decent society, and to the end of his days he would be known as a cheat. Was there no help to be found? “I know now,” he said to himself, “what it is I have done, but I do not know how I came to do it, neither the why nor the wherefore. I am growing crazy, losing my self-confidence, and I shall henceforth be unable to feel safe, whatever I do. Horrible, monstrous thought! I am absolutely afraid of myself. How can I ever have reached such a point? Yonder is a sculpture by Archipenko and the picture hanging there is one of Kokoschka’s; I am quite certain of that; but what proceeds from my own brain, and is my own creation, of that I can never more feel certain again. I retain my sight, hearing and feelings, but my brain is rotting!... I shall end in a lunatic asylum! My body moves in the light of day while my mental powers are wrapped in a dim twilight. Is there no one that can help me?” He struggled with his tears, but he could not even allow himself to weep, for he thought, “Perhaps I shall lose all consciousness of what I am doing. If I weep, may I not possibly destroy a picture that I have hitherto loved and worshipped, or abuse my man, or act improperly to Lucy’s maid?” And suddenly, at the utterance of his wife’s name, he collapsed entirely. “Ah, Lucy, light of my life, can _you_ not help me?” he cried. “Will you not come? Have you no longer faith in me? Why am I left alone?” He rang, and then, hastening to meet the footman, inquired for the Countess. “The Countess has not yet returned,” he was told. “Nor telephoned? Has she not...” “No, my lord, but an hour ago Herr Dr. von Wenk rang up, asking if he might have the honour of waiting on her ladyship to-morrow morning. His telephone number has been written down.” “Go!” said the Count. “I will go to Dr. Wenk ... yes, to Dr. Wenk,” he thought, and then, a prey to a thousand nameless fears, he cried aloud, “Or else I shall hang myself! I must be able to tell some human being what I feel....” He hurried to the telephone, giving the number written down. “Yes, this is the State Attorney, Dr. Wenk!” answered a strange voice in the distance, and Told began to tremble. But he rallied all his energy and self-control, saying, “Can I speak to you at once?” He was terribly afraid that the fever of his desire might melt the connecting wire and that he might get no answer. He breathed freely again when he heard the words, “With pleasure! I shall expect you!” “Fritz!” he shouted; “get the two-seater ready,” and he drove back to Munich.