He had sat down at the table and rested his head upon his hands. He had suddenly abandoned the uses of society and his own conventional courtesy. His words had risen from sobriety to passion; his face was pale, and his eyes had a fevered glow. The Privy Councillor, who had believed him incapable of such outbursts and such transformations, gazed down at him rigidly. “These assertions are difficult to refute,” he murmured, as he buttoned his fur-coat with trembling fingers. “And what shall a debate avail us at this hour? You spoke of those who fail through not doing. What will you do? It would mean much to me to hear that from you. What will you do, and what have you done hitherto?” “Until now it was all a mere preparation,” Christian said more calmly. “Closely looked upon, it was nothing; it was something only as measured by my powers and ability. I still cling too much to the surface. My character has been against me; I do not succeed in breaking the crust that separates me from the depth. The depth--ah, what is that really? It is impossible to discuss it; every word is forwardness and falsehood. I wish to perform no works, to accomplish nothing good or useful or great. I want to sink, to steep, to hide, to bury myself in the life of man. I care nothing for myself, I would know nothing of myself. But I would know everything about human beings, for they, you see, they are the mystery and the terror, and all that torments and affrights and causes suffering.... To go to one, always to a single one, then to the next, and to the third, and know and learn and reveal and take his suffering from him, as one takes out the vitals of a fowl.... But it is impossible to talk about it; it is too terrible. The great thing is to guard against weariness of the heart. The heart must not grow weary--that is the supreme matter. And what I shall do first of all you know,” he ended with a winning, boyish smile, “I shall vanish.” “It would be a kind of death,” said the Privy Councillor. “Or another kind of life,” Christian replied. “Yes, that is quite the right name for it and also its purpose--to create another kind of life. For this,” he arose, and his eyes burned, “this way of life is unendurable. Yours is unendurable.” The Privy Councillor came closer. “And surely, surely you will go on living? That anxiety need not torment me too, need it?” “Oh,” Christian said, vividly and serenely, “I must. What are you thinking of? I must live!” “You speak of it with a cheerfulness, and I ... and we ... Christian!” the Privy Councillor cried in his despair. “I had none but you! Do you not know it? Did you not? I have no one but you. What is to happen now, and what is to be done?”