The surgeon did not answer the question at once.
"Did you make her happy?" the old man demanded again, and his voice trembled this time with such intensity that his companion looked at him wonderingly. And in those dark eyes of the Master's he read something that made him shrink away. Then for the third time the old man demanded sternly:
"Tell me—did you make her happy?"
It was the voice of one who had a right to know, and the surgeon whispered back slowly:
"Happy? No, my God! Perhaps at first, in the struggle, a little. But afterward there was too much—too many things. It went, the inspiration and the love. I broke her heart—she left me! That—that is my Reason!"
"It is the Reason! For you took all, all—you let her give all, and you gave her—what?"
"Nothing—she died."
"I know—she died."
The Master had risen, and with folded arms faced his guest, a pitying look in his eyes. The surgeon covered his face with his hands, and after a long time said:
"So you knew this?"