I obeyed, and after having put it before her and having put her feet on it, I remained kneeling. “How will this end?” I asked sadly after a short pause. She broke into playful laughter. “Why things haven’t even begun yet.” “You are more heartless than I imagined,” I replied, hurt. “Severin,” Wanda began earnestly. “I haven’t done anything yet, not the slightest thing, and you are already calling me heartless. What will happen when I begin to carry your dreams to their realization, when I shall lead a gay, free life and have a circle of admirers about me, when I shall actually fulfil your ideal, tread you underfoot and apply the lash?” “You take my dreams too seriously.” “Too seriously? I can’t stop at make-believe, when once I begin,” she replied. “You know I hate all play-acting and comedy. You have wished it. Was it my idea or yours? Did I persuade you or did you inflame my imagination? I am taking things seriously now.” “Wanda,” I replied, caressingly, “listen quietly to me. We love each other infinitely, we are very happy, will you sacrifice our entire future to a whim?” “It is no longer a whim,” she exclaimed. “What is it?” I asked frightened. “Something that was probably latent in me,” she said quietly and thoughtfully. “Perhaps it would never have come to light, if you had not called it to life, and made it grow. Now that it has become a powerful impulse, fills my whole being, now that I enjoy it, now that I cannot and do not want to do otherwise, now you want to back out— you—are you a man?” “Dear, sweet Wanda!” I began to caress her, kiss her. “Don’t—you are not a man—” “And you,” I flared up. “I am stubborn,” she said, “you know that. I haven’t a strong imagination, and like you I am weak in execution. But when I make up my mind to do something, I carry it through, and the more certainly, the more opposition I meet. Leave me alone!” She pushed me away, and got up. “Wanda!” I likewise rose, and stood facing her. “Now you know what I am,” she continued. “Once more I warn you. You still have the choice. I am not compelling you to be my slave.” “Wanda,” I replied with emotion and tears filling my eyes, “don’t you know how I love you?” Her lips quivered contemptuously. “You are mistaken, you make yourself out worse than you are; you are good and noble by nature—” “What do you know about my nature,” she interrupted vehemently, “you will get to know me as I am.” “Wanda!” “Decide, will you submit, unconditionally?” “And if I say no.” “Then—” She stepped close up to me, cold and contemptuous. As she stood before me now, the arms folded across her breast, with an evil smile about her lips, she was in fact the despotic woman of my dreams. Her expression seemed hard, and nothing lay in her eyes that promised kindness or mercy. “Well—” she said at last. “You are angry,” I cried, “you will punish me.” “Oh no!” she replied, “I shall let you go. You are free. I am not holding you.” “Wanda—I, who love you so—”