since I came back from
my long journey this morning. Tell me what occurred. Did she make me
sleep? I feel as I have felt before when I have fancied that she has
hypnotised me."

The Wanderer looked at him in surprise. The question was asked as
naturally as though it referred to an everyday occurrence of little or
no weight.

"Yes," he answered. "She made you sleep."

"Why? Do you know? If she has made me dream something, I have forgotten
it."

The Wanderer hesitated a moment.

"I cannot answer your question," he said, at length.

"Ah--she told me that you hated her," said Kafka, turning his dark eyes
to his companion. "But, yet," he added, "that is hardly a reason why you
should not tell me what happened."

"I could not tell you the truth without saying something which I have no
right to say to a stranger--which I could not easily say to a friend."

"You need not spare me--"

"It might save you."

"Then say it--though I do not know from what danger I am to be saved.
But I can guess, perhaps. You would advise me to give up the attempt to
win her."

"Precisely. I need say no more."

"On the contrary," said Kafka with sudden energy, "when a man gives such
advice as that to a stranger he is bound to give also his reasons."

The Wanderer looked at him calmly as he answered.

"One man need hardly give a reason for saving another man's life. Yours
is in danger."

"I see that you hate her, as she said you did."

"You and she are both mistaken in that. I am not in love with her and
I have ceased to be her friend. As for my interest in you, it does not
even pretend to be friendly--it is that which any man may feel for a
fellow-being, and what any man would feel who had seen what I have seen
this afternoon."

The calm bearing and speech of the experienced man of the world carried
weight with it in the eyes of the young Moravian, whose hot blood knew
little of restraint and less of caution; with the keen instinct of
his race in the reading of character he suddenly understood that his
companion was at once generous and disinterested. A burst of confidence
followed close upon the conviction.

"If I am to lose her love, I would rather lose my life also, and by her
hand," he said hotly. "You are warning me against her. I feel that you
are honest and I see that you are in earnest. I thank you. If I am in
danger, do not try to save me. I saw her face a few moments ago, and she
spoke to me. I cannot believe that s