“Tell me, what do you think of Marie Godeau?”

“Mlle. Godeau? She’s a person everyone has to like! Surely you like her too, don’t you?”

“’Like’ is not quite the right word. I will admit to you I have been so seriously preoccupied with her since Zurich that it is difficult for me to regard that meeting as a mere episode, and the thought that she will be leaving soon, that I may never see her again, is hard to bear. I feel as if I should like to – as if I must see her always, have her near me always.”

Schwerdtfeger stopped and stared at the man who had spoken these words, first into one eye, then the other.

“Really?” he said, walking on again and lowering his head.

“It’s true,” Adrian confirmed. “I’m sure you’re not angry with me for putting my trust in you. That is the basis of my trust, that I do feel sure of it.”

“You can be sure of it!” Rudolf murmured.

And Adrian went on, “Look at it from a human point of view. I am getting on in years, already forty. As a friend, do you want me to spend the rest of my life in this hermit’s cell? I mean, think of me as a human being who suddenly might realize that he has a certain fear of missing out, of being too late, that he has need of a warmer home, of a congenial companion in the fullest sense of the word, in short, that his life requires a milder, more human atmosphere – not simply for the sake of comfort, of a softer bed to lie in, but also and above all because he hopes that it will mean good and great things for his energy and desire to work, for the human content of his future work.”