The door opened softly, and the pale young man came in.
"You should not have tried it," he whispered.
The Martian pointed to the window. Over the top of a building lower than its neighbors a small, square patch of sky was visible, and in this patch a few stars twinkled faintly.
"Is Mars there?" he asked.
The young man was silent for a moment, looking at the floor and biting his lips. Then:
"Yes," he said. "As it happens, it is. Mars is the brightest of those stars, and the topmost."
"Thank you," said the Martian. "You have been very kind to me!"
The pale young man looked at him, and at the table. Then he turned, without a word, and left the room.
The Martian did not take his eyes from the little point of light. But one of his hands reached over the table, and grasped a knife which lay there. His eyes still on Loten—his home, he plunged the knife into his heart. And the little point of light, while he fixedly watched it, flickered—and died.