"And then the books! Wretched trash written by little raw scribblers in imitation of our great Nietzsche! But we all fall into the trap; it works up our blood like cayenne pepper; we get quite maudlin over it. What enrages us afterwards is that we were actually such geese as to believe in his scoundrelly sentiment, although the scurviest cynicism exudes from all his pores. But one is so stupid, and he is so clever. Yes, to give the devil his due, he is clever."
"But how does he manage it?" asked Lilly, who dared no longer stand up for him. "How does he seem to know everything about your past, as if he had lived it with you?"
"Yes, child, it's strange. But, you know, people whose circumstances are the same generally have the same experiences. It is easy enough for him to reconstruct our past when we tell him we've lived in the country. I am a landed-proprietor's daughter. Didn't he, by-the-by, tell you he had passed much of his time in castles?"
Lilly nodded.
"That's because he--I found it all out later--was tutor to some Jews who rented a place near Breslau; but they soon gave him the sack for his impudence."
In the midst of her agony of disillusionment Lilly could not help laughing shrilly.
"That's capital!" her friend approved. "You can think yourself fortunate. If only someone had come and warned me! for afterwards, how it hurts!"
"What happens afterwards?" Lilly asked, hesitating.
"It's very simple afterwards. When he's got what he wants, it's over. He buttons up his coat, says in a voice of deep emotion, 'Au revoir'; but it never comes, his au revoir. You never see him again."
"That isn't true; it can't be true!" cried Lilly in horror. "Surely no man can be such a cur to a woman!"