“I am an atheist,” said her companion, rising abruptly from his seat.
“Apropos of what?” she asked, decidedly startled, but rising too,—“apropos of the monkey?”
“Comment?” he said blankly.
“Nothing, nothing!” quickly.
They walked on slowly among the shadows which were beginning to gather beneath the trees; after a while he spoke again.
“I tell you just now that I am an atheist, and that is very true. Now I will make you a proposal and you shall see how serious I mean. I will change myself and believe in God, if you will change yourself and believe once more in men.”
“Can you believe in God or not just as you please?” she asked wonderingly.
“I am the master of myself,” he replied straitly; “if I say that I will pray to-night, I will pray. And you must say that you will believe,” he insisted; “you must again have a faith in men, and in their truth, and in honor.” Then he paused lengthily. “And in love?” he continued; “say that you will again believe in love?—you will, will you not? yes?”
“I don’t know that I can do it, even if I want to,” she said musingly; “looking on at life is so terribly disheartening, especially with us in America, you know.”
“Oh,” he said quickly, “but I do not want you to believe in love in America; I talk of here in Munich.”