Minna led him into her bedroom. He had not entered it since the days at Fichtkampen. A wave of the opoponax perfume met him as the door opened, and he found himself in a rosy gloaming, penetrated here and there by a ray of hard, cold daylight. He felt as if he were plunged into a warm scented bath, and a cover shut down upon him. He remained stationary by the door, and breathed quickly. The old hag caught him by the sleeve and pulled him forward towards the bed where she lay. Her face was illumined by the light from the window, and her pillow gleamed round her like an aureole, while the rest of the bed was bathed in purple, semidarkness. "She has arranged this _mise en scène_," he thought. Her face had a waxen hue; there were dark rims round her eyes, which, from beneath their half-closed heavy lids, looked at him without recognition or intelligence. It seemed to him that the effects of her drug-taking had not entirely passed off. He approached her bedside on tip-toe; the thawing snow fell from his boots and left little discoloured streams on the carpet. "Felicitas?" She raised her left hand and motioned to him to come nearer, and he dragged a chair close to the bed. There was a night-table standing beside it, with bottles and phials of every description; one was empty, and labelled, "Cure for toothache--_Not to be taken_." This admonition must have induced her to drink it. "Felicitas?" he repeated. Then she slowly raised her large dim eyes and stared at him, while a bitter smile played about her mouth. "Felicitas, pull yourself together," he exhorted, feeling uneasy. She stammered Paulchen's name, and looked into vacancy again. A reflection of death seemed to lie on this white face, rigid from anguish. Leo would have sunk on his knees beside her, deeply moved and anxious, had not the doctor's words hardened and steeled him against her. "Leo?" she whispered, without looking at him. "What can I do for you?" "Are you my friend?" "Of course. You know that I am." "Leo, I can't go on living. Leo, you must get me poison." He took comfort from her words. After all, then, she had seriously wished to take her life. For that he thanked her from the bottom of his heart. A quiver of pain passed over her drawn features, which the grief of the last few days had lengthened and pinched. Her face was now marked by lines, which made it look older, but gave it more character. This was not the pink-and-white laughing face of the syren who lured him on to the edge of a precipice, but the woe-struck face of a madonna who had endured and come through much tribulation. And it was fitting that the partner of his guilt should be thus. He felt for the first time how thoroughly she belonged to him, and his hate gradually evaporated. "Don't sin against yourself, Felicitas," he said, for the sake of saying something.