le eyes, and a big gold chain--the swine! And
little Misek. It was in his room we met, with the paper peeling off the
walls, and two doors with cracks in them, so that there was always a
draught. We used to sit on his bed, and pull the dirty blankets over us
for warmth; and smoke--tobacco was the last thing we ever went without.
Over the bed was a Virgin and Child--Misek was a very devout Catholic;
but one day when he had had no dinner and a dealer had kept his picture
without paying him, he took the image and threw it on the floor before
our eyes; it broke, and he trampled on the bits. Lendorf was another,
a heavy fellow who was always puffing out his white cheeks and smiting
himself, and saying: 'Cursed society!' And Schonborn, an aristocrat who
had quarrelled with his family. He was the poorest of us all; but only
he and I would ever have dared to do anything--they all knew that!"

Christian listened with awe. "Do you mean?" she said, "do you mean, that
you--?"

"You see! you're afraid of me at once. It's impossible even for you to
understand. It only makes you afraid. A hungry man living on charity,
sick with rage and shame, is a wolf even to you!"

Christian looked straight into his eyes.

"That's not true. If I can't understand, I can feel. Would you be the
same now if it were to come again?"

"Yes, it drives me mad even now to think of people fatted with
prosperity, sneering and holding up their hands at poor devils who have
suffered ten times more than the most those soft animals could bear. I'm
older; I've lived--I know things can't be put right by violence--nothing
will put things right, but that doesn't stop my feeling."

"Did you do anything? You must tell me all now."

"We talked--we were always talking."

"No, tell me everything!"

Unconsciously she claimed, and he seemed unconsciously to admit her
right to this knowledge.

"There's not much to tell. One day we began talking in low voices--Garin
began it; he had been in some affair in Russia. We took an oath; after
that we never raised our voices. We had a plan. It was all new to me,
and I hated the whole thing--but I was always hungry, or sick from
taking charity, and I would have done anything. They knew that; they
used to look at me and Schonborn; we knew that no one else had any
courage. He and I were great friends, but we never talked of that; we
tried to keep our minds away from the thought of it. If we had a good
day and were not so hung