The Quest. Frederik van Eeden

Men and figures. They are all real—they exist—no end of figures!"

      "Then you have deceived me, Pluizer! Let me leave off—do not make me seek any more—let me alone!"

      "Have you forgotten what Death said? You were to become a man—a complete man."

      "I will not—it is dreadful!"

      "You must—you have made your choice. Just look at Doctor Cijfer. Does he find it dreadful? Grow to be like him."

      It was quite true. Doctor Cijfer always seemed calm and happy. Untiring and imperturbable, he went his way—studying and instructing, contented and even-tempered.

      "Look at him," said Pluizer. "He sees all, and yet sees nothing. He looks at men as if he himself were another kind of being who had no concern about them. He goes amid disease and misery like one invulnerable, and consorts with Death like one immortal. He longs only to understand what he sees, and he thinks everything equally good that comes to him in the way of knowledge. He is satisfied with everything, as soon as he understands it. You ought to become so, too."

      "But I never can."

      "That is true, but it is not my fault."

      In this hopeless way their discussions always ended. Johannes grew dull and indifferent, seeking and seeking—what for or why, he no longer knew. He had become like the many to whom Wistik had spoken.

      The winter came, but he scarcely observed it.

      One chilly, misty morning, when the snow lay wet and dirty in the streets, and dripped from trees and roofs, he went with Pluizer to take his daily walk.

      In a city square he met a group of young girls carrying school-books. They stopped to throw snow at one another—and they laughed and romped. Their voices rang clearly over the snowy square. Not a footstep was to be heard, nor the sound of a vehicle—only the tinkling bells of the horses, or the rattling of a shop door; and the joyful laughing rang loudly through the stillness.

      Johannes saw that one of the girls glanced at him, and then kept looking back. She had on a black hat, and wore a gay little cloak. He knew her face very well, but could not think who she was. She nodded to him—and then again.

      "Who is that? I know her."

      "That is possible. Her name is Maria. Some call her Robinetta."

      "No, that cannot be. She is not like Windekind. She is like any other girl."

      "Ha, ha, ha! She cannot be like nobody. But she is what she is. You have been longing to see her, and now I will take you to her."

      "No! I do not want to go. I would rather have seen her dead, like the others."

      And Johannes did not look round again, but hurried on, muttering:

      "This is the last! There is nothing—nothing!"