ke.

And life appeared to him in a new light. He did not strive, as before,
to clothe in words that which he had seen; nor were there such words
in the still poor, meager human language. That small, cynical and evil
feeling which had called forth in him a contempt for mankind and at
times even an aversion for the sight of a human face, had disappeared
completely. Thus, for a man who goes up in an airship, the filth and
litter of the narrow streets disappear and that which was ugly becomes
beautiful.

Unconsciously Werner stepped over to the table and leaned his right hand
on it. Proud and commanding by nature, he had never before assumed such
a proud, free, commanding pose, had never turned his head and never
looked as he did now,--for he had never yet been as free and dominant
as he was here in the prison, with but a few hours from execution and
death.

Now men seemed new to him,--they appeared amiable and charming to his
clarified vision. Soaring over time, he saw clearly how young mankind
was, that but yesterday it had been howling like a beast in the forests;
and that which had seemed to him terrible in human beings, unpardonable
and repulsive, suddenly became very dear to him,--like the inability of
a child to walk as grown people do, like a child's unconnected lisping,
flashing with sparks of genius; like a child's comical blunders, errors
and painful bruises.

"My dear people!" Werner suddenly smiled and at once lost all that was
imposing in his pose; he again became a prisoner who finds his cell
narrow and uncomfortable under lock, and he was tired of the annoying,
searching eye staring at him through the peephole in the door. And,
strange to say, almost instantly he forgot all that he had seen a little
while before so clearly and distinctly; and, what is still stranger,
he did not even make an effort to recall it. He simply sat down as
comfortably as possible, without the usual stiffness of his body,
and surveyed the walls and the bars with a faint and gentle,
strange, un-Werner-like smile. Still another new thing happened to
Werner,--something that had never happened to him before: he suddenly
started to weep.

"My dear comrades!" he whispered, crying bitterly. "My dear comrades!"

By what mysterious ways did he change from the feeling of proud and
boundless freedom to this tender and passionate compassion? He did not
know, nor did he think of it. Did he pity his dear comrades, or did
his tears conceal