“Probably,” Johanna replied; “and likewise my good nature, for here you’ve been as rude as possible again. You would be quite right in what you said, if you didn’t leave out one very important thing: there must first be a basic sympathy between two people before you can expect such demands to be honoured.” “Sympathy!” Voss jeered. “A phrase--a conventional formula! What you call sympathy is the Philistine’s first resort--tepid, flat, colourless. True sympathy requires such delicate insight of the soul that he who feels it scorns to use the shop-worn, vulgar word. I did not reckon on sympathy. A cleft, such as the cleft between you and me, cannot be bridged by cheap trappings. Do you think I had no instinctive knowledge of your coldness, your aloofness, your irony? Do you take me for the type of pachydermatous animal that leaps into a hedge of roses, because it knows the thorns cannot wound him? Oh, no! Every thorn penetrates my skin. I tell you this in order that you may know henceforth just what you are doing. Each thorn pierces me till I bleed. That was clear to me from the beginning, and yet I took the risk. I have staked all that I am on this game; I have gathered my whole self together and cast it at your feet, careless of the result. Once I desired to deliver myself utterly into the hands of fate.” “I must turn back,” Johanna said, and shut her umbrella. “I must take a cab. Where are we?” “I live on Ansbacher Street, corner of Augsburger, in the third story of the third house. Come to me for one hour; let it be as a sign that I am an equal in your eyes. You cannot imagine what depends on it for me. It is a wretched and desolate hole. If ever you cross its threshold, it will be a place in which I can breathe. I am not in the habit of begging, but I beg you for this favour. The suspicion which I see in your eyes is fully justified. I have planned to beg you for this, to bring it about. But this plan of mine did not originate to-day or yesterday. It is weeks old; it is older than I know. But that is all. Any other distrust you feel is unjustified.” He stammered these words and gasped them. Johanna looked helplessly away. She was too weak to withstand the passionate eloquence of the man, repulsive and fear-inspiring as he was. Also there was a fearful lure in the daring, in the presence of a flame, in fanning it, in danger, and in watching what would happen. Her life was empty. She needed something to expect and court and fear. She needed the brink of some abyss, some bitter fume, some transcendence of common boundaries. But for the moment she needed to gain time. “Not to-day,” she said, with a veiled expression, “some other time. Next week. No, don’t urge me. But perhaps toward the end of the week; perhaps Friday. I don’t see your purpose, but if you wish it, I’ll come Friday.”