g enough to prompt you to do
these things, then it is immoral, and must be shaken off."

Wilhelm was still unconvinced.

"I surely owe her gratitude for having loved me? That imposes certain
duties upon me; I have no right to break a heart which gave itself
wholly to me."

"Your idea has a specious air of generosity," answered Schrotter
firmly, "but in reality it is morbid and weak. Love accepts no alms.
One gives oneself wholly or not at all. Do you imagine that any woman
of spirit would be satisfied if you said to her: 'I do not love you, I
should like to leave you, but I will stay on with you because I do not
wish to give you pain, or from pity--soft-heartedness.' Why, she would
thrust you from her, and rather, a thousand times, die than live on
your bounty. On the other hand, the woman who would still hold fast to
a man after such a declaration, must be of so poor a stuff that I do
not consider her capable of feeling any violent pain. Woman, in
general, has a far truer and more natural judgment in this question.
Where she does not love she has no scruples about want of
consideration, and the knowledge that it will hurt the man's feelings
has rarely restrained her from rejecting an unwelcome suitor. There is
such a thing as necessary cruelty, my friend--the physician knows that
better than anybody."

Wilhelm shook his head thoughtfully.

"Your cruelties are not for your own advantage, but for that of your
patient. I have no such excuse to offer."

"Yes, you have," cried Schrotter. "You cure the countess of a morbid
and hysterical sentiment. This Auguste is right--she will console
herself."

"And if does not?"

"If not--why, what can I say?--we must simply wait and see. But it
would surprise me very much. The worst is over. In such cases, if women
mean to commit some act of madness, they do it in the first moment. The
countess has her mother with her, she has three children, she has, from
all I hear, an extremely buoyant nature, her despair will soon calm
down. If not, it is always open to you to return in a year's time and
do the prodigal son, and have the fatted calf killed for you."

As Wilhelm looked at him with suppressed reproach, Schrotter laid his
hand on the young man's shoulder.

"You no doubt think me a hard-hearted old fogey--you miss the ring of
romance in what I say. That is quite natural. The language of reason
always sounds flat to the ear of passion--and not to passion only, but
to senti