and subdued, as if it were some echo from far, far away. . . .
“Future! Why should we think of something that is not yet?” she said calmly.
“No, you lack the proper understanding of this life,” he continued excitedly, “and what a fairy thing this life is! The sun, the stars, the fragrance of spring,—just think! Your dead eyes are lying somewhere down below in a coffin, and above, everything keeps growing, shining, blooming,—do you not feel a terrible, endless sorrow? And your life. . . . I swear to you, I would rather see you in that coffin than here. How will it all end? Just as with Kata, of whom your madam has been telling me to-day? Or will you grow old here in misery, slime, and shame?” My hero drew a deep breath, partly from moral excitement, partly from a feeling of pity.
“No, no, no, it will be different. It must be.”
“How?”
