Once more nothing! Soon I shall have to take to lying in bed all day: so that whoever wants to see me will have to come to _me_, not I go to _him_. Yes, I will begin that mode of life to-morrow. ~His Wife.~~ Are you so tired, then, my darling? ~The Man.~~ Yes, tired and hungry; and though I could devour a whole ox, like one of Homer's heroes, I suppose I shall have to put up with a piece of dry bread! Yet a man cannot go on eating dry bread for ever, when all the time his appetite craves to be sated--craves for something into which it can plunge its teeth, and gorge itself, and be filled. ~His Wife.~~ I am so sorry for you, my dearest one! ~The Man.~~ As I am for you. Yet that makes me none the less ravenous. To-day I spent a whole hour in front of a cookshop; and just as people gape at masterpieces of art, so did I gape at the fat pies and capons and sausages in the window. And oh, the signboard above them! Do you know, it is possible to depict a ham on a signboard so cunningly that one could devour it, signboard and all. ~His Wife.~~ Yes--I too could eat something. ~The Man.~~ Of course. Who could not? But do you like lobsters? ~His Wife.~~ I simply adore them! ~The Man.~~ Then what a lobster I saw there! Though only a painted one, he was fairer even than the reality. Red, stately, and severe as a cardinal, he looked fit for consecration. I believe I could eat _two_ such cardinals, and a reverend father carp into the bargain. ~His Wife.~~ (_Sadly._) But you have not noticed my flowers? The Man. Flowers, flowers? Do you expect me to eat _them!_ ~His Wife.~~ Ah, you cannot love me, to speak thus! ~The Man.~~ Forgive me, forgive me, but I am so hungry! See how my hand is trembling. I could not even throw a stone at a dog with it. ~His Wife.~~ (_Kissing his hand._) My poor darling! ~The Man.~~ But what is this parcel on the table? It seems to send forth a most unctuous smell. Did you put it there? ~His Wife.~~ No indeed! It must have been the neighbours. ~The Man.~~ What dear, goodhearted folks! But it is strange to think that, for all the kind people in the world, a man may perish of hunger! Why should that be?--Ah! Look there! ~His Wife.~~ How you frighten me! How your eyes are staring! What is it you see? Surely it is something dreadful? ~The Man.~~ Yes. Even as I jested there uprose before me--there, in that dark corner--the terrible figure of Starvation! Do you not see it now? Its hands are stretched forth as in piteous appeal, like those of some poor child which is lost in a forest and keeps crying out in a voice of childish agony--a voice which echoes and re-echoes in the deserted wilds--"Help me, or I die! Help me, or I die!"--and there is none to hear! Look, my wife, look! See how those dark shadows quiver and float, like volumes of black smoke belched forth from some deep shaft leading down to the pit of hell! See! see! I am being drawn into them! ~His Wife.~~