not have been a beautiful woman, yet I loved to see her come to
a halt like this, and was therefore, the more fond of arousing
her temper. Perhaps she divined this, and for that very reason
gave way to rage. I said as much to her.

"What rubbish!" she cried with a shudder.

"I do not care," I continued. "Also, do you know that it is
not safe for us to take walks together? Often I have a feeling
that I should like to strike you, to disfigure you, to strangle
you. Are you certain that it will never come to that? You are
driving me to frenzy. Am I afraid of a scandal, or of your
anger? Why should I fear your anger? I love without hope, and
know that hereafter I shall love you a thousand times more. If
ever I should kill you I should have to kill myself too. But I
shall put off doing so as long as possible, for I wish to
continue enjoying the unbearable pain which your coldness gives
me. Do you know a very strange thing? It is that, with every
day, my love for you increases--though that would seem to be
almost an impossibility. Why should I not become a fatalist?
Remember how, on the third day that we ascended the
Shlangenberg, I was moved to whisper in your ear: 'Say but the
word, and I will leap into the abyss.' Had you said it, I should
have leapt. Do you not believe me?"

"What stupid rubbish!" she cried.

"I care not whether it be wise or stupid," I cried in return.
"I only know that in your presence I must speak, speak, speak.
Therefore, I am speaking. I lose all conceit when I am with you,