"Have you forgotten what Death said? You were to become a man—a complete man."
"I will not—it is dreadful!"
"You must—you have made your choice. Just look at Doctor Cijfer. Does he find it dreadful? Grow to be like him."
It was quite true. Doctor Cijfer always seemed calm and happy. Untiring and imperturbable, he went his way—studying and instructing, contented and even-tempered.
"Look at him," said Pluizer. "He sees all, and yet sees nothing. He looks at men as if he himself were another kind of being who had no concern about them. He goes amid disease and misery like one invulnerable, and consorts with Death like one immortal. He longs only to understand what he sees, and he thinks everything equally good that comes to him in the way of knowledge. He is satisfied with everything, as soon as he understands it. You ought to become so, too."
"But I never can."
"That is true, but it is not my fault."
In this hopeless way their discussions always ended. Johannes grew dull and indifferent, seeking and seeking—what for or why, he no longer knew. He had become like the many to whom Wistik had spoken.
The winter came, but he scarcely observed it.
One chilly, misty morning, when the snow lay wet and dirty in the streets, and dripped from trees and roofs, he went with Pluizer to take his daily walk.