She loves the shiver of fear and of small intoxications; she loves to be tempted, to challenge fate, to put her little hand into the tiger’s cage. But everything within her is delicate and in transition toward something--blossoming or decay. She is sensitive, without resistance, weary, and so full of subtle knowledge and various gropings that each desire in her negates another. Inbreeding has curdled her blood, and even when she laughs her face is touched with pain. And one day her father Jephtha, Judge in Israel, returns, home and sacrifices her. Oh, I am sure he went mad after that.” Johanna’s face was as pale as death. “That, I suppose, was a lesson in your admired science of psychiatry?” She forced herself to mockery. Voss did not answer. “Good-bye, you learned man.” She walked to the door. Voss followed her. “When are you coming again?” he asked softly. She shook her head. “When are you coming again?” “Don’t torment me.” “Wahnschaffe will be here the day after to-morrow. Will you come?” “I don’t know.” “Johanna, will you come?” He stood before her with uplifted hands, and the muscles of his cheeks and temples twitched. “I don’t know.” She went out. But he knew that she would come. XIII Between the acts of a dress rehearsal Lorm and Emanuel Herbst walked up and down in the foyer, discussing Lorm’s rôle. “Hold yourself a little more in reserve.” Herbst talked slightly through his nose. “And at the climax of the second act I expected a somewhat stronger emphasis. There’s nothing else to criticize.” “Very well,” said Lorm drily. “I’ll stick on a little more grease-paint.” Many of the invited guests also walked through the curved passage way. Admiring glances followed Lorm. A girl approached him determinedly. She had evidently struggled with herself. She handed him a bunch of carnations, and silently withdrew, frightened by her own temerity. “How nice of you!” Lorm exclaimed with kindliness, and stuck his nose into the flowers. “Well, you old reveller, do the broken hearts taste as well as ever?” Herbst asked mockingly. “One is served at breakfast, too, isn’t it? Or more than one? It makes an old codger like me feel sad.”