»Women? What do you mean, darling?«
»Young, gentle girls, still in their teens. They follow in the steps of the men, manfully, daringly, die with them....«
»Die! Oh my God!« she cried, clutching his shoulder.
»What? Are you touched by this?«
»Never mind, darling. I sometimes.... Go on with your story! Go on!«
And he went on with his story, and there happened a wonderful thing. Ice was turned into fire. Through the funeral notes of hi requiem speech, suddenly rang for the girl, her eyes wide open now and burning, the gospel of a new, joyous, and mighty life. Tears rose in her eyes and dried there as in a furnace; she was excited to the pitch of rebellion, eager for every word. Like a hammer upon glowing iron, his words were forging in her a new responsive soul Steadily, regularly, it fell—beating the soul ever to a finer temper—and suddenly, in the suffocating stench of that room, there spoke aloud a new and unknown voice, the voice of a human being.
»Darling, am I not also a woman?«
»What do you mean?«
»I also might go with Them?«
He did not reply, and in his silence he seemed to her so remarkable and so great (he had been Their comrade, had lived with Them) that it felt uncomfortable to be lying beside him, embracing him. She moved away a little and left only a hand touching him, so that the contact might be less; and forgetting her hatred of the Fine, her tears and curses, and the long years of inviolable solitude in the depths—overcome by the beauty and self-denial of Their lives—her face flushed with excitement, and she was ready to weep at the terrible thought that They might not accept her.