"You knew that! Why did you leave him the miserable trash?"
"I had no idea of the danger of these writings. Explain yourself further, I entreat."
"You must first see your son. But I bind it on your conscience to use the greatest precaution. Do not show the least surprise. We have to deal with a dangerous disorder. Do not say a word about his changed appearance. Then come back to me again."
Greatly disturbed, the father passed to the room of his son. Richard sat on the sofa gazing at the floor. His cheeks had lost their bloom, his face was emaciated, and his eyes deeply sunken. Vogt's Physiological Letters lay open near him. He did not rise quickly and joyfully to kiss his father, as was his custom. He remained sitting, and smiled languidly at him. Herr Frank, grieved and perplexed, sat down near him, and took occasion to pick up the book.
"How are you, Richard?"
"Very well, as you see."
"You are industrious. What book is this?"
"A rare book, father—a remarkable book. One learns there to know what man is and what he is not. Until now, I did not know that cats, dogs, monkeys, and all animals were of our race. Now I know; for it is clearly demonstrated in that book."
"You certainly do not believe such absurdities?"
"Believe? I believe nothing at all. Faith ends where proof begins."