“That was passion—­the first stage.  Nature tickles your people into marriage, but it tortures us.  Wait till you get outside.  You’ll have a return of those sensations—­only ten times worse.  The drink you’ve had will see to that....  How do you suppose it will all end?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you questions.”

Haunte laughed loudly.  “Sullenbode.”

“You mean it will end in my seeking Sullenbode?”

“But what will come of it, Maskull?  What will she give you?  Sweet, fainting, white-armed, feminine voluptuousness?”

Maskull coolly drank another cup.  “And why should she give all that to a passerby?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, she hasn’t it to give.  No, what she will give you, and what you’ll accept from her, because you can’t help it, is—­anguish, insanity, possibly death.”

“You may be talking sense, but it sounds like raving to me.  Why should I accept insanity and death?”

“Because your passion will force you to.”

“What about yourself?” Maskull asked, biting his nails.

“Oh, I have my male stones.  I am immune.”

“Is that all that prevents you from being like other men?”

“Yes, but don’t attempt any tricks, Maskull.”

Maskull went on drinking steadily, and said nothing for a time.  “So men and women here are hostile to each other, and love is unknown?” he proceeded at last.

“That magic word....  Shall I tell you what love is, Maskull?  Love between male and female is impossible.  When Maskull loves a woman, it is Maskull’s female ancestors who are loving her.  But here in this land the men are pure males.  They have drawn nothing from the female side.”

“Where do the male stones come from?”

“Oh, they are not freaks.  There must be whole beds of the stuff somewhere.  It is all that prevents the world from being a pure female world.  It would be one big mass of heavy sweetness, without individual shapes.”

“Yet this same sweetness is torturing to men?”

“The life of an absolute male is fierce.  An excess of life is dangerous to the body.  How can it be anything else than torturing?”

Corpang now sat up suddenly, and addressed Haunte.  “I remind you of your promise to tell about Muspel.”

Haunte regarded him with a malevolent smile.  “Ha!  The underground man has come to life.”

“Yes, tell us,” put in Maskull carelessly.

Haunte drank, and laughed a little.  “Well, the tale’s short, and hardly worth telling, but since you’re interested....  A stranger came here five years ago, inquiring after Muspel-light.  His name was Lodd.  He came from the east.  He came up to me one bright morning in summer, outside this very cave.  If you ask me to describe him—­I can’t imagine a second man like him.  He looked so proud, noble, superior, that I felt my own blood to be dirty by comparison.  You can guess