"You have a right to be bitter against the world."
Landolin looked at her in astonishment. He felt something of that mild art of healing which does not try to soften sorrow by denying it and covering it over, but by recognizing it in its reality and importance.
"Thank you," said Landolin, "but I have taken advantage of that right. The world is nothing to me, and I am nothing to the world."
"May I ask a question?"
"Why not?"
"Then tell me if the misfortune, or accident, in this poor fellow's case had happened, not to you, but to Titus, to the Oberbauer, or to Tobelurban, would Landolin of Reutershöfen have acted differently toward him?"
Landolin shrugged his shoulders and whistled softly. He followed her through the first, second, even the third thought, but at the fourth he stopped, and, like a balking horse, was not to be moved from the spot. With an encouraging smile the lady said:
"I will answer for you. 'Yes, Madam Pfann; I should have acted toward the others just as they have acted toward me.'"
Landolin nodded.
"You are sharp; you cut one through and through."