She smiled so strangely, as she said this. Or did it merely seem so to
Robert?

"Well, in any case Doctor Thiel is not of your opinion. He was as
disagreeable as a scrubbing-brush to-day. He gave me a serious moral
lecture with firstly, secondly, thirdly, and closed with an admonition
that I must play the dare-devil no longer, or to be more explicit, must
renounce love. That seemed to me very much wanting in taste."

"Indeed, Thiel told you that?" She had suddenly become extremely earnest
and attentive.

"Yes. And I consider that he entirely mistakes his vocation. When I
want preaching I'll apply to the theological faculty. From the medical
profession I expect strengthening. Thiel seems to confound salve with
sanctity. That is not treatment."

The servant announced dinner, and both went to the table. Else almost
always arranged to be alone with Robert on Tuesday.

"I think," she said, when they were seated opposite to each other, "that
you ought not to take Thiel's words lightly. He is your friend. And,"
she added hesitatingly, as Robert did not answer, "he is right."

"You say that, too?" he exclaimed, indignantly.

"Yes, dear, dear Robert, yes. I should not have ventured to say it first
and alone. You might have considered it rude and selfish. You cannot
think so in Thiel. When he says to you: Stop!--it is not obtrusive.
Since I am merely repeating his view, I have the courage to confess that
it has been for a long time my own opinion."

"A long time! That is more and more pleasing."

Frau von der Lehde hesitated a moment. The phrase was really not well
chosen. But the words could not be recalled, so she bravely continued,
growing warmer, more urgent, the longer she spoke.

"Robert, I repeat, Thiel is right. It is time for you to think of your
own happiness. You have bestowed much joy in your life, and, it is true,
also caused much sorrow, probably far more sorrow than joy, but you have
not been happy yourself. No, no, do not try to impose upon me. You have
not been happy. You might have been so, you have come near happiness
countless times, but you have always passed it by. You have lived in a
constant state of intoxication, and intoxication is always followed by
illness, to escape which you have sought intoxication anew. Robert, you
must feel a loathing of such a life. Women admire or fear you, men envy
or abhor you, but how does it aid you? It cannot make you happier. You