“Yes; for that means suffering. If you feel, you are at the mercy of all things. Every wind that blows uses you as an Æolian harp.”
“That must be charming, at least for those who live in your neighbourhood,” said Hadria.
“No; for often the harp rings false. Its strings get loosened; one hangs slack and jars, and where then is your harmony?”
“One would run the risk of many things rather than let one’s strings lie dumb,” said Hadria.
“What a dangerous temperament you have!” cried Valeria, looking round at the glowing face beside her.
“I must take my risks,” said Hadria.
“I doubt if you know what risks there are.”
“Then I must find out,” she answered.
“One plays with fire so recklessly before one has been burnt.”
Hadria was silent. The words sounded ominous.