"Johanna!" Ludwig exclaimed, "you would not—you cannot go upon the stage!"
"If I only could!" she cried, with sparkling eyes; "if I only could!"
"You must not!" he said angrily, and seized her hands. "Bethink yourself; a man can assert himself, isolate himself upon the stage as elsewhere, a woman never; she loses her identity, degrades herself——"
"There is no reason why she should do so," Johanna exclaimed, clasping tightly the hands which she had withdrawn from his grasp. "The inspiration which animates and strengthens a man can exalt a woman also above all petty, low considerations. I have been here more than a year, and have kept my eyes open. I have seen what has been mean and paltry, nay, disgusting, but never in my father, never! He is not only great in his art, he is a man great and complete as only an artist can be."
Ludwig changed colour. "Do you really mean this, Johanna?" he asked. "Is it only in an artist that you can find a 'complete' man? Think what you are saying."
"Yes, yes; I mean it!" she cried passionately, and her cheeks glowed. She seemed transformed.
"Then I have nothing more to say," said Ludwig, as he arose.
Then first Johanna was conscious of what she had done.
"Oh, do not go!" she cried, confronting him. "I cannot let you go so. You did not understand me; I only meant——"
"I not understand you, child?" said Ludwig, controlling himself. "I might deceive myself while I was absent from you; but now that we are together, I see into your heart just as I always did."