Karl was profoundly stirred by the story, although he could hardly tell why.
"I give found money away," he said, laughing uncertainly, and adding, "for luck."
"So do I," said Millar quickly, "but it slipped through my fingers, and what slips through our fingers is what we want—we seek it breathlessly—that is human nature. You, too, will seek your found treasure once it slips through your fingers. And then you will find that worthless thing worth everything. You will find it sweet, dear, precious."
Karl turned away from him, trying not to listen to him.
"Kill a man for a found sovereign," he repeated.
"That woman will become sweeter, dearer, more precious to you every day," the malignant one went on, his words searing Karl's soul. "You will realize that she could have given you wings, that she is the warmth, the color—her glowing passion the inspiration of your work. All this you will realize when she has slipped through your fingers. You might have become a master—a giant. Not by loving your art, but by loving her. Oh, to be kissed by her, to look into her burning eyes and to kiss her warm, passionate mouth."
Karl covered his face with his hands. Millar picked up the delicately scented shawl which had covered Olga's bare shoulders.
"This has touched her bosom," he cried, twining it around Karl's head and shoulders, so that its fragrance reached his nostrils.
The boy lost control of himself and caught the drapery, pressing it to his lips.
"Both so beautiful," Millar persisted in his soft, even, melodious voice. "Oh, what you could be to each other. What divine pleasure you would find."