"If I were to make comparisons they would certainly not all be drawn in favour of the deeply learned doctor of medicine, as he, in his self-complacency, may dream. Wegen is not so intellectual, but there is something dangerous, discomposing in intellect--and now even a chemist he would dissolve us into every variety of element; he would throw our characters into retorts, our advantages and failings into the scales, and once we are dismembered, what are we then? Wegen is not so intellectual, but neither is he paradoxical; he would not set the world upon its head. As regards beauty, well, that is a matter of taste. He is no Apollo, but a Hercules is not one either. His faults are those of his virtues, but others only possess the virtues of their faults, in short--" "In short," interrupted Kuhl, "one does not need to be a great mathematician to see who would fare the worst in this problem. Certainly the bliss of former affection is not included in this calculation, the promises of that beautiful alliance, the recollections of happy hours, in which heart met heart, or elevated moments in which mind spoke to mind. It is the indifferent cold souls for which no past exists, when a pleasant future beckons to them." "You do me injustice," said Cäcilie, laying her cigarette aside. "Or," continued Kuhl, inexorably, "you are meditating treachery; you would destroy our alliance by force. It is a commercial transaction--a matter of business! I have for long already expected a decisive act--I will anticipate it. Perhaps I should be preferred to Wegen, if I would buy that privilege with the same price that he will pay." Now Cäcilie interrupted him hastily, her eyes flashed fire, her whole body vibrated with passion. "So little do you know me, Paul? So little do you all know me? What are the others to me, even if they possessed the crowns of princes, and the treasures of Golconda, and united all the virtues of the world within themselves? I have learned to see everything with your eyes--I should become blind if I were to lose you! If I must leave you, I should feel as if I were thrust out into an endless desert. How lonely I should feel in, the forests of Masuren--in the orange gardens of Italy! What is my life? Fire of your fire--soul of your soul!" It was the language of unalloyed passion; in those words lay perfect truthfulness of feeling, which also ignites in her beloved one's heart; but he still stood hesitatingly, he did not dare to fold this slender girl, who so often had threatened to escape him, with perfect confidence to his heart. Cäcilie perceived his hesitation; she knew the cause, also, and what she now said, while coming insinuatingly towards him, was no longer the true meaning of her heart.