“Do you remember words that you once spoke to me?” he asked. “You said: ‘Love is an art like poetry or music, and he who does not understand that, finds no grace in love’s sight.’ Were not those your words?” “Yes, they were. Speak to me, my darling!” He held her in his arms, and the life of her body, its warmth, its blood that was conscious of him, and its vibration that was toward him, made speech a little easier. “You see,” he said thoughtfully, and caressed her hand, “I have only enjoyed women. Nothing more. I have been ignorant of that love which is an art. It was so easy. They adored me, and I took no pains. They put no hindrances on my path, and so my foot passed over them. Not one demanded a fulfilment of me. They were happy enough if I was but contented. But you, Eva, you’re not satisfied with me. You look at me searchingly and watch me; and your vigil continues even at those moments when one floats beyond thought and knowledge. And it is because you are not satisfied with me. Or is that an error, a deception?” “It is so very late,” said Eva, and, leaning her head back upon the pillows, she closed her eyes. She listened to the perished echo of her own voice, and the oppression of her heart almost robbed her of breath. XVI It was in another night. They had been jesting and telling each other amusing stories, and at last they had grown weary. Suddenly in the darkness outside of the window Christian had a vision of his father and of the dog Freia; and his father had the tread of a lonely man. Never had Christian seen loneliness so visibly embodied. The dog was his only companion. He had sought for another friend, but there had been none to go with him. “How is that possible?” Christian thought. His senses were lost in a strange drowsiness, even while he held Eva’s beautiful body, which was as smooth and cool as ivory. And in this drowsiness visions emerged of his brother, his sister, his mother, and about each of them was that great loneliness and desolation. “How is that possible?” Christian thought. “Their lives are thronged with people.” But he answered himself, and said: “Is not your own life likewise thronged with people to suffocation, and do you not also feel that same loneliness and desolateness?” Now a dark object seemed to descend upon him. It was a coat--a wet, dripping coat. And at the same moment some one called out to him: “Arise, Christian, arise!” But he could not arise, for those ivory arms held him fast.