"Hedwig, my heart's so full. I must thank you. I must tell you loving things. What would I be without you? Whatever I am I owe to you. Hedwig, I can't bear any longer to be standing beside you so stiff and so cold while my heart is throbbing. I must get some air--I must tell you----" "Oh, God!" she breathed, clapping her hands to her face and rushing back into the room, where she dropped down on a settee. He followed her and caught both her hands. She was panting. "Let us talk sensibly," she said, making an effort to sit up erect. "Sit down--there--and listen to me." He obeyed mechanically. "Why can't things stay the same as they always have been between us? Wasn't it lovely? Didn't we use to enjoy each other? And now suddenly something has seethed up in us that makes us ungrateful for all the happiness we had. We mustn't give in. It would plunge us--me, at least--into unhappiness. You see, a few days ago you told me I was your one and only one. I feel that in a certain sense I really am, and that makes me proud and happy. But the moment we want to reap love where we sowed friendship, the magic departs that held us in its spell for so long. Until then I shall have been your one and only one. Afterward I shall be--one more." He started. "What an ugly notion!" he said dully. "Ugly, perhaps, but all the truer," she replied, plucking at the tablecloth with palsied fingers. "We must not surrender to self-deception. This moment determines our future. It lies within our power to decide which way we shall go. You know that--I--love you--and that--I am lonely. So have pity on me. Spare me suffering. I should like to mean as much in your life as I always have." "You are to mean _more_ in my life, not less!" he cried, putting his hands to his forehead. "I want to devote myself to you altogether, with all my body, all my soul, and all my art. I want to have peace--peace from the world without and peace from the passions within. And where could I be surer of finding peace than with you?" She drew a deep sigh, as if in awakening hope, and her gaze hung on his ardently. At that instant the hands of the clock were close on twelve. "A few moments," he said, "and the year will be over--a new one will be coming. Shall it forever remain the same for me, always doing futile empty things? And shall it always remain the same for you, always living in sadness and loneliness? Ahead of us is darkness, and, crouching in the darkness like a hungry beast, is the grave." She shuddered. "Soon it will have us in its clutches at any rate. Why should we doubt and hesitate? It's all the same whatever we do. In the background stands Nothing. So let us be happy as long as there is still intoxication in life." The clock struck twelve. Each stroke was like the flapping of wings of some lonely straying soul. With a sob she fell on his breast. * * * * *