“Ingigerd,” he said, “fate has brought us together.  I am sure you, too, feel that in spite of all the appalling events we underwent, something like predestination was at work.”  Frederick now told her, as he had fully planned to do, the story of his past.  It was a complete confession.  He spoke of his youth and marriage, spoke with all possible forbearance and love of his wife.  “There was no hope for her ever getting well again.  I have nothing to reproach myself with in regard to her, except that I was a man merely of good intentions and imperfect achievement.  But I may not have been the right husband for her in so far as I could not give her the repose of spirit that she needed and I myself lacked.  When the collapse finally occurred and other misfortunes—­they seldom come singly—­and in addition I suffered disappointments outside my family life, I had great difficulty in bearing up.  I hate to speak of it, but it is the truth—­before I saw you, I picked up a revolver more than once for a very definite purpose.  Life weighed upon me like lead.  It had turned stale and tasteless.  The sight of you, Ingigerd, and, strange to say, the wreck, which I experienced not only symbolically but in actuality, taught me to value life again.  You and bare existence—­the two things I saved from the wreck.  Once more I stand on terra firma.  I love the soil.  I should like to fondle it.  But I am not yet secure, Ingigerd.  I am still sore, without and within, you know.  You have suffered a loss, I have suffered a loss.  We have beheld the other side of existence, the unforgettable gloom.  We have looked into the pit.  Ingigerd, shall we cling to each other?  Will you come to a man torn and distracted, lashed by scorpions, to a man who is greedy to-day and surfeited to-morrow, to a man who longs for peace and repose, and be peace and repose to him?  Could you for my sake give up all that has until now filled your life, if I for your sake leave behind me everything that has wasted my existence?  Shall we both begin afresh, on a new basis, simply and without any false glamour, and live and die as plain country persons?  I will be tender with you, Ingigerd.”  Frederick hollowed his hands and held them as he had done when speaking of the Madonna.  “I will—­” He broke off and cried:  “Say something!  Just tell me the one thing, Ingigerd!  Can you—­can you become my comrade for life?”

Ingigerd was standing at the window looking out into the fog and tapping the pane with a pencil.

“Perhaps, Doctor von Kammacher,” she said finally.

“Perhaps!” Frederick blazed up.  “And Doctor von Kammacher!”

Ingigerd turned and said quickly: 

“Why do you always fly into such a temper right away?  How do I know if I am suited to your needs and desires?”

“It is merely a question of love,” replied Frederick.

“I like you.  Yes, I do like you, but whether my feeling for you is love, how can I tell?  I always say that so far I haven’t loved anything but animals.”