The sun, hard and sharp as a merciless eye, arises slowly in this parched sky and spreads its cloak of fire over this dead world. The stone upon which I sit begins to glow. The storm drives splinters of stone into my flesh. A fiery stream of dust mounts toward me. Madness descends upon me like a fiery canopy. Shall I wander on? Shall I die? I wander on, for I am too weary to die. At last, far off, on a ledge of rock, I see the figure of a man. Like a black spot it interrupts this sea of light in which the very shadows have become a crimson glow. An unspeakable yearning after this man fills my soul. For his steps are secure. His feet are scarcely lifted, yet quietly does he fare down the chasms and up the heights. I want to rush to meet him but a great numbness holds me back. He comes nearer and nearer. I see a pallid, bearded countenance with high cheek-bones, and emaciated cheeks.... The mouth, delicate and gentle as a girl's, is drawn in a quiet smile. A bitterness that has grown into love, into renunciation, even into joy, shines in this smile. And at the sight of it I feel warm and free. And then I see his eye which is round and sharp as though open through the watches of many nights. With moveless clearness of vision he measures the distances, and is careless of the way which his foot finds without groping. In this look lies a dreaming glow which turns to waking coldness. A tremour of reverence seizes my body. And now I know who this man is who fares through the desert in solitary thought, and to whom horror has shown the way to peace. He looks past me! How could it be different? I dare not call to him. Movelessly I stare after him until his form has vanished in the guise of a black speck behind the burning cliffs. Then I wander farther ... and farther ... and farther.... * * * * * It was on a grayish yellow day of autumn that I sat again after an interval on the upholstery of the famous _cafe_, I looked gratefully up at the brown slave-girl in the picture who blew upon her flutes as sleepily and dully as ever. I had come to see her. I start for I feel a tap on my shoulder. In brick-red gloves, his silk-hat over his forehead, a little more tired and world-worn than ever, that bosom friend whose name I have now definitely forgotten stood before me. "Where the devil have you been all this time?" he asks. "Somewhere," I answer laughing. "In the desert." ... "Gee! What were you looking for there?" "_Myself_."... Chapter V. And ever swifter grows the beat of time's wing. My breath can no longer keep the same pace. Thoughtless enjoyment of life has long yielded to a life and death struggle. And I am conquered. Wretchedness and want have robbed me of my grasping courage and of my laughing defiance. The body is sick and the soul droops its wings. * * * * *