oing away--that says all--and
I--I must stay here."

He looked at her as she uttered these words in an expressionless tone,
as if only talking to herself. Her dilated eyes were fixed in a
terrified gaze, on the candles burning in the silver candlesticks as if
her life were fading and she was striving to rekindle the glimmering
spark by these tiny flames. Her face was colorless, but inexpressibly
attractive in its utter self-forgetfulness, which made the beautiful
woman seem like a helpless child that, frightened by the dread of
ghosts, files to some brilliantly lighted room and gazes straight at
the lamp, that it may see no spectral faces to right or left.

"What really brings me here," she said after a pause, "is a question I
wanted to ask you, but mind, I'm speaking to the philosopher, and not
to the friend of former days."

"Of _former_ days?"

"Let me go on. I want to ask you whether there is any justice on earth.
Or no, you need not answer. It's perfectly evident that gifts are
differently apportioned among men. That there is no justice, even in
heaven--not even according to the representations of religious
people--is also unquestionable, else what would become of the doctrine
of election? 'Many are called, but few chosen.' For why did not the
'so-called gods,' of whom your friend spoke that day of long ago, endow
all their creatures equally, if they had the power to be just?
Intentional partiality, voluntary malice--no, that would be too
fiendish. But now tell me, why must we endure degradation, neglect,
to better the condition of the children of happiness, yes, even
expulsion into bad company--such as you've found beneath this roof? Is
not self-defence in mortal peril allowable? To help ourselves I mean,
when one is wretched, disinherited, starving perhaps, and full dishes
are carried past him? Or do you think it a sin to break one of the ten
commandments under any circumstances? What? Are the gifts, powers, and
happiness of men to be different, and yet must they have but one rule
for their actions? Is the fainting beggar who plucks an apple from a
stranger's tree, as great a thief, as a man who has plenty to eat and
breaks into a treasury? Answer! Why may we not philosophize a little as
usual? You would find me a better pupil now, for I've gone through the
primary school and learned all the absurdities of this great world by
heart--yes indeed, by _heart_, and it ached enough at the task."

"Dearest friend,