t sorry."

"Sorry for whom?"

"Sorry for you."

"No need," she whispered hardly audibly, and again made a faint
movement.

That incensed me at once. What! I was so gentle with her, and she....

"Why, do you think that you are on the right path?"

"I don't think anything."

"That's what's wrong, that you don't think. Realise it while there is
still time. There still is time. You are still young, good-looking;
you might love, be married, be happy...."

"Not all married women are happy," she snapped out in the rude abrupt
tone she had used at first.

"Not all, of course, but anyway it is much better than the life here.
Infinitely better. Besides, with love one can live even without
happiness. Even in sorrow life is sweet; life is sweet, however one
lives. But here what is there but ... foulness? Phew!"

I turned away with disgust; I was no longer reasoning coldly. I began
to feel myself what I was saying and warmed to the subject. I was
already longing to expound the cherished ideas I had brooded over in my
corner. Something suddenly flared up in me. An object had appeared
before me.

"Never mind my being here, I am not an example for you. I am, perhaps,
worse than you are. I was drunk when I came here, though," I hastened,
however, to say in self-defence. "Besides, a man is no example for a
woman. It's a different thing. I may degrade and defile myself, but I
am not anyone's slave. I come and go, and that's an end of it. I
shake it off, and I am a different man. But you are a slave from the
start. Yes, a slave! You give up everything, your whole freedom. If
you want to break your chains afterwards, you won't be able to; you
will be more and more fast in the snares. It is an accursed bondage.
I know it. I won't speak of anything else, maybe you won't understand,
but tell me: no doubt you are in debt to your madam? There, you see,"
I added, though she made no answer, but only listened in silence,
entirely absorbed, "that's a bondage for you! You will never buy your
freedom. They will see to that. It's like selling your soul to the
devil.... And besides ... perhaps, I too, am just as unlucky--how do
you know--and wallow in the mud on purpose, out of misery? You know,
men take to drink from grief; well, maybe I am here from grief. Come,
tell me, what is there good here? Here you and I ... came together ...
just now and did not say one word to one another all the time, and it
was on