“I cannot lie,” she replied softly after a short pause. “He has made an impression on me which I haven’t yet been able to analyse, further than that I suffer and tremble beneath it. It is an impression of the sort I have met with in the works of poets or on the stage, but I always thought it was a figment of the imagination. Oh, he is a man like a lion, strong and beautiful and yet gentle, not brutal like the men of our northern world. I am sorry for you, Severin, I am; but I must possess him. What am I saying? I must give myself to him, if he will have me.” “Consider your reputation, Wanda, which so far has remained spotless,” I exclaimed, “even if I no longer mean anything to you.” “I am considering it,” she replied, “I intend to be strong, as long as it is possible, I want—” she buried her head shyly in the pillows—“I want to become his wife—if he will have me.” “Wanda,” I cried, seized again by that mortal fear, which always robs me of my breath, makes me lose possession of myself, “you want to be his wife, belong to him for always. Oh! Do not drive me away! He does not love you—” “Who says that?” she exclaimed, flaring up. “He does not love you,” I went on passionately, “but I love you, I adore you, I am your slave, I let you tread me underfoot, I want to carry you on my arms through life.” “Who says that he doesn’t love me?” she interrupted vehemently. “Oh! be mine,” I replied, “be mine! I cannot exist, cannot live without you. Have mercy on me, Wanda, have mercy!” She looked at me again, and her face had her cold heartless expression, her evil smile. “You say he doesn’t love me,” she said, scornfully. “Very well then, get what consolation you can out of it.” With this she turned over on the other side, and contemptuously showed me her back. “Good God, are you a woman without flesh or blood, haven’t you a heart as well as I!” I cried, while my breast heaved convulsively. “You know what I am,” she replied, coldly. “I am a woman of stone, _Venus in Furs_, your ideal, kneel down, and pray to me.” “Wanda!” I implored, “mercy!” She began to laugh. I buried my face in her pillows. Pain had loosened the floodgates of my tears and I let them flow. For a long time silence reigned, then Wanda slowly raised herself. “You bore me,” she began. “Wanda!” “I am tired, let me go to sleep.” “Mercy,” I implored. “Do not drive me away. No man, no one, will love you as I do.” “Let me go to sleep,”—she turned her back to me again. I leaped up, and snatched the poinard, which hung beside her bed, from its sheath, and placed its point against my breast. “I shall kill myself here before your eyes,” I murmured dully. “Do what you please,” Wanda replied with complete indifference. “But let me go to sleep.” She yawned aloud. “I am very sleepy.” For a moment I stood as if petrified. Then I began to laugh and cry at the same time. Finally I placed the poinard in my belt, and again fell on my knees before her.