City of Endless Night Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  IN WHICH I LEARN THAT COMPETITION IS STILLTHE LIFE OF THE OLDEST TRADE IN THE WORLD

  ~1~

  When I told Dr. Zimmern that I should solve the problem of the increaseof the supply of protium I may have been guilty of speaking of hopes asif they were certainties. My optimism was based on the discovery thatthe exact chemical state of the protium in the ore was unknown, and thatit did not exist equally in all samples of the ore.

  After some further months of labour I succeeded in determining the exactchemical ingredients of the ore, and from this I worked rapidly toward anew process of extraction that would greatly increase the total yield ofthe precious element. But this fact I kept from my assistants whose workI directed to futile researches while I worked alone after hours infollowing up the lead I had discovered.

  During the progress of this work I was not always in the laboratory. Ihad become a not infrequent visitor to the Level of the Free Women. Thecontinuous carnival of amusement had an attraction for me, as it musthave had for any tired and lonely man. But it was not merely the lure ofsensuous pleasures that appealed to me, for I was also fascinated withthe deeper and more tragic aspect of life beneath the gaudy surface ofhectic joy.

  Some generalities I had picked up from observation and chanceconversations. As a primary essential to life on the level I had quicklylearned that money was needed, and my check book was in frequent demand.The bank provided an aluminum currency for the pettier needs of therecreational life, but neither the checks nor the currency had had valueon other levels, since there all necessities were supplied without costand luxuries were unobtainable. This strange retention of moneycirculation and general freedom of personal conduct exclusively on theFree Level puzzled me. Thus I found that food and drink were hereavailable for a price, a seeming contradiction to the strict limitationsof the diet served me at my own quarters. At first it seemed I haddiscovered a way to defeat that limitation--but there was the weigher tobe considered.

  It was a queer ensemble, this life in the Black Utopia of Berlin, acombination of a world of rigid mechanistic automatism in the regularroutine of living with rioting individual license in recreationalpleasure. The Free Level seemed some ancient Bagdad, some Bourbon Court,some Monte Carlo set here, an oasis of flourishing vice in a desert ofsterile law-made, machine-executed efficiency and puritanically orderedlife. Aided by a hundred ingenious wheels and games of chance, men andwomen gambled with the coin and credit of the level. These games werepresided over by crafty women whose years were too advanced to permit ofa more personal means of extracting a living from the grosser passionsof man. Some of these aged dames were, I found, quite highly regardedand their establishments had become the rendezvous for many youngerwomen who by some arrangement that I could not fathom plied theirtraffic in commercialized love under the guidance of these subtler womenwho had graduated from the school of long experience in preyingupon man.

  But only the more brilliant women could so establish themselves for theyears of their decline. There were others, many others, whose beauty hadfaded without an increase in wit, and these seemed to be serving theirmore fortunate sisters, both old and young, in various menialcapacities. It was a strange anachronism in this world where men's moreweighty affairs had been so perfectly socialized, to find womanretaining, evidently by men's permission, the individualistic right toexploit her weaker sister.

  The thing confounded me, and yet I recalled the well known views of oursociological historians who held that it was woman's greaterindividualism that had checked the socialistic tendencies of the world.Had the Germans then achieved and maintained their rigid socialisticorder by retaining this incongruous vestige of feminine commercialism asa safety valve for the individualistic instincts of the race?

  They called it the Free Level, and I marvelled at the nature of thisfreedom. Freedom for licentiousness, for the getting and losing of moneyat the wheels of fortune, freedom for temporary gluttony and the mildintoxication of their flat, ill-flavoured synthetic beer. A tragicsymbol it seemed to me of the ignobility of man's nature, that he willbe a slave in all the loftier aspects of living if he can but retain hisfreedom for his vices and corruptions. Had the Germans then, like thevillain of the moral play, a necessary part in the tragedy of man; didthey exist to show the other races of the earth the way theyshould not go? But the philosophy of this conception collapsed when Irecalled that for more than a century the world had lost all sight ofthe villain and yet had not in the least deteriorated from a lack of thehorrible example.

  From these vaguer speculations concerning the Free Level of Berlin thatexisted like a malformed vestigial organ in the body of that socializedstate, my mind came back to the more human, more personal side of theproblem thus presented me. I wanted to know more of the lives of thesewomen who maintained Germany's remnant of individualism.

  To what extent, I asked myself, have the true instincts of womanhood andthe normal love of man and child been smothered out of the lives ofthese girls? What secret rebellions are they nursing in their hearts? Iwondered, too, from what source they came, and why they were selectedfor this life, for Zimmern had not adequately enlightened me onthis point.

  Pondering thus on the secret workings in the hearts of these girls, Isat one evening amid the sensuous beauty of the Hall of Flowers. Imarvelled at how little the Germans seemed to appreciate it, for it wasfar less crowded than were the more tawdry places of revelry. Herewithin glass encircling walls, preserved through centuries of artificialexistence, feeding from pots of synthetic soil and stimulated byperpetual light, marvellous botanical creations flourished and floweredin prodigal profusion. Ponderous warm-hued lilies floated on thesprinkled surface of the fountain pool. Orchids, dangling from the metallattice, hung their sensuous blossoms in vapour-laden air. Luxuriousvines, climatized to this unreal world, clambered over cosy arbours, orclung with gripping fingers to the mossy concrete pillars.

  ~2~

  I was sitting thus in moody silence watching the play of the fountain,when, through the mist, I saw the lonely figure of a girl standing inthe shadows of a viny bower. She was toying idly with the swayingtendrils. Her hair was the unfaded gold of youth. Her pale dress ofsilvery grey, unmarred by any clash of colour, hung closely about a formof wraith-like slenderness.

  I arose and walked slowly toward her. As I approached she turned towardme a face of flawless girlish beauty, and then as quickly turned away asif seeking a means of escape.

  "I did not mean to intrude," I said.

  She did not answer, but when I turned to go, to my surprise, she steppedforward and walked at my side.

  "Why do you come here alone?" she asked shyly, lifting a pensivequestioning face.

  "Because I am tired of all this tawdry noise. But you," I said, "surelyyou are not tired of it? You cannot have been here long."

  "No," she replied, "I have not. Only thirty days"; and her blue eyesgleamed with childish pride.

  "And that is why you seem so different from them all?"

  Timidly she placed her hand upon my arm. "So you," she said gratefully,"you understand that I am not like them-that is, not yet."

  "You do not act like them," I replied, "and what is more, you act as ifyou did not want to be like them. It surely cannot be merely that youare new here. The other girls when they come seem so eager for thislife, to which they have long been trained. Were you not trained forit also?"

  "Yes," she admitted, "they tried to train me for it, but they could notkill my artist's soul, for I was not like these others, born of a strainwherein women can only be mothers, or, if rejected for that, come here.I was born to be a musician, a group where women may be something morethan mere females."

  "Then why are you here?" I asked.

  "Because," she faltered, "my voice was imperfect. I have, you see, thesoul of an artist but lack the physical means to give that soulexpression. And so they transferred me to the school for free women,where I have been courted by the young men of the Royal House.
But ofcourse you understand all that."

  "Yes," I said, "I know something of it; but my work has always soabsorbed me that I have not had time to think of these matters. In fact,I come to the Free Level much less than most men."

  For a moment, it seemed, her eyes hardened in cunning suspicion, but asI returned her intent gaze I could fathom only the doubts and fears ofchildish innocence.

  "Please let us sit down," I said; "it is so beautiful here; and thentell me all about yourself, how you have lived your childhood, and whatyour problems are. It may be that I can help you."

  "There is not much to tell," she sighed, as she seated herself besideme. "I was only eight years old when the musical examiners condemned myvoice and so I do not remember much about the music school. In the otherschool where they train girls for the life on the Free Level, theytaught us dancing, and how to be beautiful, and always they told us thatwe must learn these things so that the men would love us. But the onlymen we ever saw were the doctors. They were always old and serious and Icould not understand how I could ever love men. But our teachers wouldtell us that the other men would be different. They would be handsomeand young and would dance with us and bring us fine presents. If we werepleasing in their sight they would take us away, and we should each havean apartment of our own, and many dresses with beautiful colours, andthere would be a whole level full of wonderful things and we could goabout as we pleased, and dance and feast and all life would be love andjoy and laughter.

  "Then, on the 'Great Day,' when we had our first individual dresses--forbefore we had always worn uniforms--the men came. They were youngmilitary officers and members of the Royal House who are permitted toselect girls for their own exclusive love. We were all very shy atfirst, but many of the girls made friends with the men and some of themwent away that first day. And after that the men came as often as theyliked and I learned to dance with them, and they made love to me andtold me I was very beautiful. Yet somehow I did not want to go withthem. We had been told that we would love the men who loved us. I don'tknow why, but I didn't love any of them. And so the two years passed andthey told me I must come here alone. And so here I am."

  "And now that you are here," I said, "have you not, among all these menfound one that you could love?"

  "No," she said, with a tremor in her voice, "but they say I must."

  "And how," I asked, "do they enforce that rule? Does any one requireyou--to accept the men?"

  "Yes," she replied. "I must do that--or starve."

  "And how do you live now?" I asked.

  "They gave me money when I came here, a hundred marks. And they make mepay to eat and when my money is gone I cannot eat unless I get more. Andthe men have all the money, and they pay. They have offered to pay me,but I refused to take their checks, and they think me stupid."

  The child-like explanation of her lot touched the strings of my heart."And how long," I asked, "is this money that is given you when you comehere supposed to last?"

  "Not more than twenty days," she answered.

  "But you," I said, "have been here thirty days!"

  She looked at me and smiled proudly. "But I," she said, "only eat onemeal a day. Do you not see how thin I am?"

  The realization that any one in this scientifically fed city could behungry was to me appalling. Yet here was a girl living amidst luxuriousbeauty, upon whom society was using the old argument of hunger to forceher acceptance of the love of man.

  I rose and held out my hand. "You shall eat again today," I said.

  "I would rather not," she demurred. "I have not yet accepted favoursfrom any man."

  "But you must. You are hungry," I protested. "The problem of yourexistence here cannot be put off much longer. We will go eat and then wewill try and find some solution."

  Without further objection she walked with me. We found a secluded boothin a dining hall. I ordered the best dinner that Berlin had to offer.

  During the intervals of silence in our rather halting dinnerconversation, I wrestled with the situation. I had desired to gaininsight into the lives of these girls. Yet now that the opportunity waspresented I did not altogether relish the role in which it placed me.The apparent innocence of the confiding girl seemed to open an easy wayfor a personal conquest--and yet, perhaps because it was so obvious andeasy, I rebelled at the unfairness of it. To rescue her, to aid her toescape--in a free world one might have considered these more obviousmoves, but here there was no place for her to escape to, no highersocial justice to which appeal could be made. Either I must accept heras a personal responsibility, with what that might involve, or deserther to her fate. Both seemed cowardly--yet such were the horns of thedilemma and a choice must be made. Here at least was an opportunity tomake use of the funds that lay in the bank to the credit of the name Ibore, and for which I had found so little use. So I decided to offer hermoney, and to insist that it was not offered as the purchase priceof love.

  "You must let me help you," I said, "you must let me give you money."

  "But I do not want your money," she replied. "It would only postpone mytroubles. Even if I do accept your money, I would have to accept moneyfrom other men also, for you cannot pay for the whole of awoman's living."

  "Why not," I asked, "does any rule forbid it?"

  "No rule, but can so young a man as you afford it?"

  "How much does it take for you to live here?"

  "About five marks a day."

  I glanced rather proudly at my insignia as a research chemist of thefirst rank. "Do you know," I asked, "how much income thatinsignia carries?"

  "Well, no," she admitted, "I know the income of military officers, butthere are so many of the professional ranks and classes that I get allmixed up."

  "That means," I said, "ten thousand marks a year."

  "So much as that!" she exclaimed in astonishment. "And I can live hereon two hundred a month, but no, I did not mean that--you wouldn't,--Icouldn't--let you give me so much."

  "Much!" I exclaimed; "you may have five hundred if you need it."

  "You make love very nicely," she replied with aloofness.

  "But I am not making love," I protested.

  "Then why do you say these things? Do you prefer some one else? If sowhy waste your funds on me?"

  "No, no!" I cried, "it is not that; but you see I want to tell youthings; many things that you do not know. I want to see you often andtalk to you. I want to bring you books to read. And as for money, thatis so you will not starve while you read my books and listen to me talk.But you are to remain mistress of your own heart and your own person.You see, I believe there are ways to win a woman's love far better thanbuying her cheap when she is starved into selling in thisbrutal fashion."

  She looked at me dubiously. "You are either very queer," she said, "orelse a very great liar."

  "But I am neither," I protested, piqued that the girl in her innocenceshould yet brand me either mentally deficient or deceitful. "It isimpossible to make you understand me," I went on, "and yet you musttrust me. These other men, they approve the system under which you live,but I do not. I offer you money, I insist on your taking it becausethere is no other way, but it is not to force you to accept me but onlyto make it unnecessary for you to accept some one else. You have beenvery brave, to stand out so long. You must accept my money now, but youneed never accept me at all--unless you really want me. If I am to makelove to you I want to make love to a woman who is really free; a womanfree to accept or reject love, not starved into accepting it in thisso-called freedom."

  "It is all very wonderful," she repeated; "a minute ago I thought youdeceitful, and now I want to believe you. I can not stand out muchlonger and what would be the use for just a few more days?"

  "There will be no need," I said gently, "your courage has done its workwell--it has saved you for yourself. And now," I continued, "we willbind this bargain before you again decide me crazy."

  Taking out my check book I filled in a check for two hundred markspayable to--"To whom shall
I make it payable?" I asked.

  "To Bertha, 34 R 6," she said, and thus I wrote it, cursing theprostituted science and the devils of autocracy that should give aninnocent girl a number like a convict in a jail or a mare in a breeder'sherd book.

  And so I bought a German girl with a German check--bought her because Isaw no other way to save her from being lashed by starvation to theslave block and sold piecemeal to men in whom honour had not even died,but had been strangled before it was born.

  With my check neatly tucked in her bosom, Bertha walked out of the cafeclinging to my arm, and so, passing unheeding through the throng ofindifferent revellers, we came to her apartment.

  At the door I said, "Tomorrow night I come again. Shall it be at thecafe or here?"

  "Here," she whispered, "away from them all."

  I stooped and kissed her hand and then fled into the multitude.

  ~3~

  I had promised Bertha that I would bring her books, but the narrow rangeof technical books permitted me were obviously unsuitable, nor did Ifeel that the unspeakably morbid novels available on the Level of FreeWomen would serve my purpose of awakening the girl to more wholesomeaspirations. In this emergency I decided to appeal to myfriend, Zimmern.

  Leaving the laboratory early, I made my way toward his apartment,puzzling my brain as to what kind of a book I could ask for that wouldbe at once suitable to Bertha's child-like mind and also be a volumewhich I could logically appear to wish to read myself. As I walkedalong the answer flashed into my mind--I would ask for a geographyof the outer world.

  Happily I found Zimmern in. "I have come to ask," I said, "if you couldloan me a book of description of the outer world, one with maps, onethat tells all that is known of the land and seas and people."

  "Oh, yes," smiled Zimmern, "you mean a geography. Your request," hecontinued, "does me great honour. Books telling the truth about theworld without are very carefully guarded. I shall be pleased to get thegeography for you at once. In fact I had already decided that when youcame again I would take you with me to our little secret library.Germany is facing a great crisis, and I know no better way I can serveher than doing my part to help prepare as many as possible of ourscientists to cope with the impending problems. Unless you chemistsavert it, we shall all live to see this outer world, or die thatothers may."

  Dr. Zimmern led the way to the elevator. We alighted on the Level of FreeWomen. Instead of turning towards the halls of revelry we took ourcourse in the opposite direction along the quiet streets among theapartments of the women. We turned into a narrow passage-way and Dr.Zimmern rang the bell at an apartment door. But after waiting a momentfor an answer he took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

  "I am sorry Marguerite is out," he said, as he conducted me into areception room. The walls were hung with seal-brown draperies. Therewere richly upholstered chairs and a divan piled high with fluffypillows. In one corner stood a bookcase of burnished metal filigree.

  Zimmern waved his hand at the case with an expression of disdain. "Onlythe conventional literature of the level, to keep up appearances," hesaid; "our serious books are in here"; and he thrust open the door of aroom which was evidently a young lady's boudoir.

  Conscious of a profane intrusion, I followed Dr. Zimmern into the daintydressing chamber. Stepping across the room he pushed open a spaciouswardrobe, and thrusting aside a cleverly arranged shield of feminineapparel he revealed, upon some improvised shelves, a library of perhapsa hundred volumes. He ran his hand fondly along the bindings. "No otherman of your age in Berlin," he said, "has ever had access to such acomplete fund of knowledge as is in this library."

  I hope the old doctor took for appreciation the smile that played uponmy face as I contrasted his pitiful offering with the endless miles ofbook stacks in the libraries of the outer world where I had spent somany of my earlier days.

  "Our books are safer here," said Zimmern, "for no one would suspect agirl on this level of being interested in serious reading. If perchancesome inspector did think to perform his neglected duties we trust to himbeing content to glance over the few novels in the case outside and notto pry into her wardrobe closet. There is still some risk, but that wemust take, since there is no absolute privacy anywhere. We must trust tochance to hide them in the place least likely to be searched."

  "And how," I asked, "are these books accumulated?"

  "It is the result of years of effort," explained Zimmern. "There areonly a few of us who are in this secret group but all have contributedto the collection, and we come here to secure the books that the othersbring. We prefer to read them here, and so avoid the chance of beingdetected carrying forbidden books. There is no restriction on thecallers a girl may have at her apartment; the authorities of the levelare content to keep records only of her monetary transactions, and thatfact we take advantage of. Should a man's apartment on another level beso frequently visited by a group of men an inquiry would be made."

  All this was interesting, but I inferred that I would again haveopportunity to visit the library and now I was impatient to keep myappointment with Bertha. Making an excuse for haste, I asked Zimmern toget the geography for me. The stiff back of the book had been removed,and Zimmern helped me adjust the limp volume beneath my waistcoat.

  "I am sorry you cannot remain and meet Marguerite tonight," he said as Istepped toward the door. "But tomorrow evening I will arrange for you tomeet Colonel Hellar of the Information Staff, and Marguerite can be withus then. You may go directly to my booth in the cafe where you lastdined with me."

  ~4~

  After a brief walk I came to Bertha's apartment, and nervously pressedthe bell. She opened the door stealthily and peered out, thenrecognizing me, she flung it wide.

  "I have brought you a book," I said as I entered; and, not knowing whatelse to do, I went through the ridiculous operation of removing thegeography from beneath my waistcoat.

  "What a big book," exclaimed Bertha in amazement. However, she did notopen the geography but laid it on the table, and stood staring at mewith her child-like blue eyes.

  "Do you know," she said, "that you are the first visitor I ever had inmy apartment? May I show you about?"

  As I followed her through the cosy rooms, I chafed to see the daintyluxury in which she was permitted to live while being left to starve.The place was as well adapted to love-making as any other productof German science is adapted to its end. The walls were adornedwith sensual prints; but happily I recalled that Bertha, havingno education in the matter, was immune to the insult.

  Anticipating my coming she had ordered dinner, and this was presentlydelivered by a deaf-and-dumb mechanical servant, and we set it forth onthe dainty dining table. Since the world was young, I mused, woman andman had eaten a first meal together with all the world shut out, and sowe dined amid shy love and laughter in a tiny apartment in the heart ofa city where millions of men never saw the face of woman--and wheremillions of babies were born out of love by the cold degree of science.And this same science, bartering with licentious iniquity, had providedthis refuge and permitted us to bar the door, and so we accepted ourrefuge and sanctified it with the purity that was within our ownhearts--such at least was my feeling at the time.

  And so we dined and cleared away, and talked joyfully of nothing. As theevening wore on Bertha, beside me upon the divan, snuggled contentedlyagainst my shoulder. The nearness and warmth of her, and the innocenceof her eyes thrilled yet maddened me.

  With fast beating heart, I realized that I as well as Bertha was in thegrip of circumstances against which rebellion was as futile as werethoughts of escape. There was no one to aid and no one to forbid orcriticize. Whatever I might do to save her from the fate ordained forher would of necessity be worked out between us, unaided and unhamperedby the ethics of civilization as I had known it in a freer, saner world.

  In offering Bertha money and coming to her apartment I had thrust myselfbetween her and the crass venality of the men of her race, but I had nowto wrestle
with the problem that such action had involved. If, Ireasoned, I could only reveal to her my true identity the situationwould be easier, for I could then tell her of the rules of the game oflove in the world I had known. Until she knew of that world and itsideals, how could I expect her to understand my motives? How else couldI strengthen her in the battle against our own impulses?

  And yet, did I dare to confess to her that I was not a German? Would notdeep-seated ideals of patriotism drilled into the mind of a child placeme in danger of betrayal at her hands? Such a move might place my ownlife in jeopardy and also destroy my opportunity of being of service tothe world, could I contrive the means of escape from Berlin with theknowledge I had gained. Small though the possibilities of such escapemight be, it was too great a hope for me to risk for sentimentalreasons. And could she be expected to believe so strange a tale?

  And so the temptation to confess that I was not Karl Armstadt passed,and with its passing, I recalled the geography that I had gone to somuch trouble to secure, and which still lay unopened upon the table.Here at least was something to get us away from the tumultuousconsciousness of ourselves and I reached for the volume and spread itopen upon my knees.

  "What a funny book!" exclaimed Bertha, as she gazed at the round maps ofthe two hemispheres. "Of what is that a picture?"

  "The world," I answered.

  She stared at me blankly. "The Royal World?" she asked.

  "No, no," I replied. "The world outside the walls of Berlin."

  "The world in the sun," exclaimed Bertha, "on the roof where they fightthe airplanes? A roof-guard officer" she paused and bit her lip--

  "The world of the inferior races," I suggested, trying to find somecommon footing with her pitifully scant knowledge.

  "The world underground," she said, "where the soldiers fight in themines?"

  Baffled in my efforts to define this world to her, I began turning thepages of the geography, while Bertha looked at the pictures inchild-like wonder, and I tried as best I could to find simpleexplanations.

  Between the lines of my teaching, I scanned, as it were, the true stateof German ignorance. Despite the evident intended authoritativeness ofthe book--for it was marked "Permitted to military staff officers"--Ifound it amusingly full of erroneous conceptions of the true state ofaffairs in the outer world.

  This teaching of a child-like mind the rudiments of knowledge was anamusing recreation, and so an hour passed pleasantly. Yet I realizedthat this was an occupation of which I would soon tire, for it was notthe amusement of teaching a child that I craved, but the companionshipof a woman of intelligence.

  As we turned the last page I arose to take my departure. "If I leave thebook with you," I said, "will you read it all, very carefully? And thenwhen I come again I will explain those things you can not understand."

  "But it is so big, I couldn't read it in a day," replied Bertha, as shelooked at me appealingly.

  I steeled myself against that appeal. I wanted very much to get my mindback on my chemistry, and I wanted also to give her time to read andponder over the wonders of the great unknown world. Moreover, I nolonger felt so grievously concerned, for the calamity which hadovershadowed her had been for the while removed. And I had, too, my ownstruggle to cherish her innocence, and that without the usual helpextended by conventional society. So I made brave resolutions andexplained the urgency of my work and insisted that I could not see herfor five days.

  Hungrily she pleaded for a quicker return; and I stubbornly resisted thetemptation. "No," I insisted, "not tomorrow, nor the next day, but Iwill come back in three days at the same hour that I came tonight."

  Then taking her in my arms, I kissed her in feverish haste and toremyself from the enthralling lure of her presence.

  ~5~

  When I reached the cafe the following evening to keep my appointmentwith Zimmern, the waiter directed me to one of the small enclosedbooths. As I entered, closing the door after me, I found myselfconfronting a young woman.

  "Are you Col. Armstadt?" she asked with a clear, vibrant voice. Shesmiled cordially as she gave me her hand. "I am Marguerite. Dr. Zimmernhas gone to bring Col. Hellar, and he asked me to entertain you untilhis return."

  The friendly candour of this greeting swept away the grey walls ofBerlin, and I seemed again face to face with a woman of my own people.She was a young woman of distinctive personality. Her features, thoughdelicately moulded, bespoke intelligence and strength of character thatI had not hitherto seen in the women of Berlin. Framing her face was aluxuriant mass of wavy brown hair, which fell loosely about hershoulders. Her slender figure was draped in a cape of deep bluecellulose velvet.

  "Dr. Zimmern tells me," I said as I seated myself across the table fromher, "that you are a dear friend of his."

  A swift light gleamed in her deep brown eyes. "A very dear friend," shesaid feelingly, and then a shadow flitted across her face as she added,"Without him life for me would be unbearable here."

  "And how long, if I may ask, have you been here?"

  "About four years. Four years and six days, to be exact. I can keepcount you know," and she smiled whimsically, "for I came on the day ofmy birth, the day I was sixteen."

  "That is the same for all, is it not?"

  "No one can come here before she is sixteen," replied Marguerite, "andall must come before they are eighteen."

  "But why did you come at the first opportunity?" I asked, as I mentallycompared her confession with that of Bertha who had so courageouslypostponed as long as she could the day of surrender to this life ofshamefully commercialized love.

  "And why should I not come?" returned Marguerite. "I had a chance tocome, and I accepted it. Do you think life in the school for girls offorbidden birth is an enjoyable one?"

  I wanted to press home the point of my argument, to proclaim my pride inBertha's more heroic struggle with the system, for this girl with whom Inow conversed was obviously a woman of superior intelligence, and itangered me to know that she had so easily surrendered to the life forwhich German society had ordained her. But I restrained my speech, for Irealized that in criticizing her way of life I would be criticizing herobvious relation to Zimmern, and like all men I found myself inclined tobe indulgent with the personal life of a man who was my friend.Moreover, I perceived the presumptuousness of assuming a superior airtowards an established and accepted institution. Yet, strive as I mightto be tolerant, I felt a growing antagonism towards this attractive andcultured girl who had surrendered without a struggle to a life that tome was a career of shame--and who seemed quite content with hersurrender.

  "Do you like it here?" I asked, knowing that my question was stupid, butanxious to avoid a painful gap in what was becoming, for me, a difficultconversation.

  Marguerite looked at me with a queer penetrating gaze. "Do I like ithere?" she repeated. "Why should you ask, and how can I answer? Can Ilike it or not like it, when there was no choice for me? Can I push outthe walls of Berlin?"--and she thrust mockingly into the air with adelicately chiselled hand--"It is a prison. All life is a prison."

  "Yes," I said, "it is a prison, but life on this level is more joyfulthan on many others."

  Her lip curled in delicate scorn. "For you men--of course--and I supposeit is for these women too--perhaps that is why I hate it so, becausethey do enjoy it, they do accept it. They sell their love for food andraiment, and not one in all these millions seems to mind it."

  "In that," I remarked, "perhaps you are mistaken. I have not come hereoften as most men do, but I have found one other who, like you, rebelsat the system--who in fact, was starving because she would not sellher love."

  Marguerite flashed on me a look of pitying suspicion as she asked: "Haveyou gone to the Place of Records to look up this rebel against thesale of love?"

  A fire of resentment blazed up in me at this question. I did not knowjust what she meant by the Place of Records, but I felt that this womanwho spoke cynically of rebellion against the sale of love, and yet whohad obviously sol
d her love to an old man, was in no position todiscredit a weaker woman's nobler fight.

  "What right," I asked coldly, "have you to criticize another whom you donot know?"

  "I am sorry," replied Marguerite, "if I seem to quarrel with you when Iwas left here to entertain you, but I could not help it--it angers me tohave you men be so fond of being deceived, such easy prey to thisthreadbare story of the girl who claims she never came here until forcedto do so. But men love to believe it. The girls learn to use the storybecause it pays."

  A surge of conflicting emotion swept through me as I recalled thechild-like innocence of Bertha and compared it with the criticalscepticism of this superior woman. "It only goes to show," I thought,"what such a system can do to destroy a woman's faith in the veryexistence of innocence and virtue."

  Marguerite did not speak; her silence seemed to say: "You do notunderstand, nor can I explain--I am simply here and so are you, and wehave our secrets which cannot be committed to words."

  With idle fingers she drummed lightly on the table. I watched thoseslender fingers and the rhythmic play of the delicate muscles of thebare white arm that protruded from the rich folds of the blue velvetcape. Then my gaze lifted to her face. Her downcast eyes were shieldedby long curving lashes; high arched silken brows showed dark against askin as fresh and free from chemist's pigment as the petal of a rose. Inexultant rapture my heart within me cried that here was something fineof fibre, a fineness which ran true to the depths of her soul.

  In my discovery of Bertha's innocence and in my faith in her purity andcourage I had hoped to find relief from the spiritual loneliness thathad grown upon me during my sojourn in this materialistic city. But thatfaith was shaken, as the impression Bertha had made upon myover-sensitized emotions, now dimmed by a brighter light, flickered paleon the screen of memory. The mere curiosity and pity I had felt for achance victim singled out among thousands by the legend of innocence ona pretty face could not stand against the force that now drew me to thiswoman who seemed to be not of a slavish race--even as Dr. Zimmern seemeda man apart from the soulless product of the science he directed. But asI acknowledged this new magnet tugging at the needle of my flounderingheart, I also realized that my friendship for the lovable and courageousZimmern reared an unassailable barrier to shut me into outer darkness.

  The thought proved the harbinger of the reality, for Dr. Zimmermanhimself now entered. He was accompanied by Col. Hellar of theInformation Staff, a man of about Zimmern's age. Col. Hellar borehimself with a gracious dignity; his face was sad, yet there gleamedfrom his eye a kindly humor.

  Marguerite, after exchanging a few pleasantries with Col. Hellar andmyself, tenderly kissed the old doctor on the forehead, and slipped out.

  "You shall see much of her," said Zimmern, "she is the heart and fire ofour little group, the force that holds us together. But tonight I askedher not to remain"--the old doctor's eyes twinkled with merriment,--"fora young man cannot get acquainted with a beautiful woman and with ideasat the same time."

  ~6~

  "And now," said Zimmern, after we had finished our dinner, "I want Col.Hellar to tell you more of the workings of the Information Service."

  "It is a very complex system," began Hellar. "It is old. Its historygoes back to the First World War, when the military censorship began bysuppressing information thought to be dangerous and circulatingfictitious reports for patriotic purposes. Now all is much moreelaborately organized; we provide that every child be taught only thethings that it is decided he needs to know, and nothing more. Have youseen the bulletins and picture screens in the quarters for the workers?"

  "Yes," I replied, "but the lines were all in old German type."

  "And that," said Hellar, "is all that the workers and soldiers can read.The modern type could be taught them in a few days, but we see to itthat they have no opportunity to learn it. As it is now, should theyfind or steal a forbidden book, they cannot read it."

  "But is it not true," I asked, "that at one time the German workers weremost thoroughly educated?"

  "It is true," said Hellar, "and because of that universal educationGermany was defeated in the First World War. The English contaminatedthe soldiers by flooding the trenches with democratic literature droppedfrom airplanes. Then came the Bolshevist regime in Russia with itspassion for revolutionary propaganda. The working men and soldiers readthis disloyal literature and they forced the abdication of William theGreat. It was because of this that his great grandson, when the House ofHohenzollern was restored to the throne, decided to curtail universaleducation.

  "But while William III curtailed general education he increased thespecialized education and established the Information Staff to supervisethe dissemination of all knowledge."

  "It is an atrocious system," broke in Zimmern, "but if we had notabolished the family, curtailed knowledge and bred soldiers andworkers from special non-intellectual strains this sunless world ofours could not have endured."

  "Quite so," said Hellar, "whether we approve of it or not certainlythere was no other way to accomplish the end sought. By no other plancould German isolation have been maintained."

  "But why was isolation deemed desirable?" I enquired.

  "Because," said Zimmern, "it was that or extermination. Even now we whowish to put an end to this isolation, we few who want to see the worldas our ancestors saw it, know that the price may be annihilation."

  "So," repeated Hellar, "so annihilation for Germany, but better so--andyet I go on as Director of Information; Dr. Zimmern goes on as ChiefEugenist; and you go on seeking to increase the food supply, and so weall go on as part of the diabolic system, because as individuals wecannot destroy it, but must go on or be destroyed by it. We have richeshere and privileges. We keep the labourers subdued below us, Royaltyenthroned above us, and the World State at bay about us, all by thisscience and system which only we few intellectuals understand and whichwe keep going because we can not stop it without being destroyed bythe effort."

  "But we shall stop it," declared Zimmern, "we must stop it--withArmstadt's help we can stop it. You and I, Hellar, are mere cogs; if webreak others can take our places, but Armstadt has power. What he knowsno one else knows. He has power. We have only weakness because otherscan take our place. And because he has power let us help him finda way."

  "It seems to me," I said, "that the way must be by education. More menmust think as we do."

  "But they can not think," replied Hellar, "they have nothing tothink with."

  "But the books," I said, "there is power in knowledge."

  "But," said Hellar, "the labourer can not read the forbidden book andthe intellectual will not, for if he did he would be afraid to talkabout it, and what a man can not talk about he rarely cares to read. Thelove or hatred of knowledge is a matter of training. It was only lastweek that I was visiting a boy's school in order to study the effect ofa new reader of which complaint had been made that it failedsufficiently to exalt the virtue of obedience. I was talking with theteacher while the boys assembled in the morning. We heard a greatcommotion and a mob of boys came in dragging one of their companions whohad a bruised face and torn clothing. "Master, he had a forbidden book,"they shouted, and the foremost held out the tattered volume as if itwere loathsome poison. It proved to be a text on cellulose spinning.Where the culprit had found it we could not discover but he was sent tothe school prison and the other boys were given favours forapprehending him."

  "But how is it," I asked, "that books are not written by free-mindedauthors and secretly printed and circulated?"

  At this question my companions smiled. "You chemists forget," saidHellar, "that it takes printing presses to make books. There is no pressin all Berlin except in the shops of the Information Staff. Every paper,every book, and every picture originates and is printed there. Everynews and book distributor must get his stock from us and knows that hemust have only in his possession that which bears the imprint for hislevel. That is why we have no public libraries and no trade ins
econd-hand books.

  "In early life I favoured this system, but in time the foolishness ofthe thing came to perplex, then to annoy, and finally to disgust me. ButI wanted the money and honour that promotion brought and so I have wonto my position and power; with my right hand I uphold the system andwith my left hand I seek to pull out the props on which it rests. Fortwenty years now I have nursed the secret traffic in books and risked mylife many times thereby, yet my successes have been few and scattered.Every time the auditors check my stock and accounts I tremble in fear,for embezzling books is more dangerous than embezzling credit atthe bank."

  "But who," I asked, "write the books?"

  "For the technical books it is not hard to find authors," explainedHellar, "for any man well schooled in his work can write of it. But thetask of getting the more general books written is not so easy. For thenit is not so much a question of the author knowing the things of whichhe writes but of knowing what the various groups are to be permittedto know.

  "That writing is done exclusively by especially trained workers of theInformation Service. I myself began as such a writer and studied longunder the older masters. The school of scientific lying, I called it,but strange to say I used to enjoy such work and did it remarkably well.As recognition of my ability I was commissioned to write the book 'God'sAnointed.' Through His Majesty's approval of my work I now owe myposition on the Staff.

  "His Majesty," continued Hellar, "was only twenty-six years of age whenhe came to the throne, but he decided at once that a new religious bookshould be written in which he would be proclaimed as 'God's Anointedruler of the World.'

  "I had never before spoken with the high members of the Royal House, andI was trembling with eagerness and fear as I was ushered into HisMajesty's presence. The Emperor sat at his great black table; before himwas an old book. He turned to me and said, 'Have you ever heard of theChristian Bible?'

  "My Chief had informed me that the new book was to be based on the oldBible that the Christians had received from the Hebrews. So I said,'Yes, Your Majesty, I am familiar with many of its words.'

  "He looked at me with a gloating suspicion. 'Ah, ha,' he said, 'thenthere is something amiss in the Information Service--you are in thethird rank of your service and the Bible is permitted only to thefirst rank.'

  "I saw that my statement unless modified would result in an embarrassinginvestigation. 'I have never read the Christian Bible,' I said, 'but mymother must have read it for when as a child I visited her she quoted tome long passages from the Bible.'

  "His Majesty smiled in a pleased fashion. 'That is it,' he said, 'womenare essentially religious by nature, because they are trusting andobedient. It was a mistake to attempt to stamp out religion. It is thedoctrine of obedience. Therefore I shall revive religion, but it shallbe a religion of obedience to the House of Hohenzollern. The God of theHebrews declared them to be his chosen people. But they proved a servileand mercenary race. They traded their swords for shekels and became abyword and a hissing among the nations--and they were scattered to thefour corners of the earth. I shall revive that God. And this time heshall chose more wisely, for the Germans shall be his people. The ideais not mine. William the Great had that idea, but the revolution sweptit away. It shall be revived. We shall have a new Bible, based upon theold one, a third dispensation, to replace the work of Moses and Jesus.And I too shall be a lawgiver--I shall speak the word of God.'"

  Hellar paused; a smile crept over his face. Then he laughed softly andto himself--but Dr. Zimmern only shook his head sadly.

  "Yes, I wrote the book," continued Hellar. "It required four years, forHis Majesty was very critical, and did much revising. I had a longargument with him over the question of retaining Hell. I was bitterlyopposed to it and represented to His Majesty that no religion had everthrived on fear of punishment without a corresponding hope of reward.'If you are to have no Heaven,' I insisted, 'then you must haveno Hell.'

  "'But we do not need Heaven,' argued His Majesty, 'Heaven issuperfluous. It is an insult to my reign. Is it not enough that a man isa German, and may serve the House of Hohenzollern?'

  "'Then why,' I asked, 'do you need a Hell?' I should have been shot forthat but His Majesty did not see the implication. He replied coolly:

  "'We must have a Hell because there is one way that my subjects canescape me. It is a sin of our race that the Eugenics Office should havebred out--but they have failed. It is an inborn sin for it is chieflycommitted by our children before they come to comprehend the glory ofbeing German. How else, if you do not have a Hell in your religion, canyou check suicide?'

  "Of course there was logic in his contention and so I gave in and madethe Children's Hell. It is a gruesome doctrine, that a child who killshimself does not really die. It is the one thing in the whole book thatmakes me feel most intellectually unclean for writing it. But I wrote itand when the book was finished and His Majesty had signed themanuscript, for the first time in over a century we printed a bible on aGerman press. The press where the first run was made we named 'OldGutenberg.'"

  "Gutenberg invented the printing press," explained Zimmern, fearing Imight not comprehend.

  "Yes," said Hellar with a curling lip, "and Gutenberg was a German, andso am I. He printed a Bible which he believed, and I wrote one which Ido not believe."

  "But I am glad," concluded Hellar as he arose, "that I do not believeGutenberg's Bible either, for I should very much dislike to think ofmeeting him in Paradise."

  ~7~

  After taking leave of my companions I walked on alone, oblivious to thegay throng, for I had many things on which to ponder. In these two men Ifelt that I had found heroic figures. Their fund of knowledge, whichthey prized so highly, seemed to me pitifully circumscribed and limited,their revolutionary plans hopelessly vague and futile. But theintellectual stature of a man is measured in terms of the average of hisrace, and, thus viewed, Zimmern and Hellar were intellectual giants ofheroic proportions.

  As I walked through a street of shops. I paused before the displaywindow of a bookstore of the level. Most of these books I had previouslydiscovered were lurid-titled tales of licentious love. But among them Inow saw a volume bearing the title "God's Anointed," and recalled that Ihad seen it before and assumed it to be but another like its fellows.

  Entering the store I secured a copy and, impatient to inspect mypurchase, I bent my steps to my favourite retreat in the nearby Hall ofFlowers. In a secluded niche near the misty fountain I began a hastyperusal of this imperially inspired word of God who had anointed theHohenzollerns masters of the earth. Hellar's description had prepared mefor a preposterous and absurd work, but I had not anticipated anythingquite so audacious could be presented to a race of civilized men, muchless that they could have accepted it in good faith as the Germansevidently did.

  "God's Anointed," as Hellar had scoffingly inferred, not only proclaimedthe Germans as the chosen race, but also proclaimed an actual divinityof the blood of the House of Hohenzollern. That William II did have somesuch notions in his egomania I believe is recorded in authentic history.But the way Eitel I had adapted that faith to the rather depressingfacts of the failure of world conquest would have been extremely comicalto me, had I not seen ample evidence of the colossal effect of such afaith working in the credulous child-mind of a people so utterly devoidof any saving sense of humour.

  Not unfamiliar with the history of the temporal reign of the Popes ofthe middle ages, I could readily comprehend the practical efficiency ofsuch a mixture of religious faith with the affairs of earth. For the Godof the German theology exacted no spiritual worship of his people, butonly a very temporal service to the deity's earthly incarnation in theform of the House of Hohenzollern.

  The greatest virtue, according to this mundane theology, was obedience,and this doctrine was closely interwoven with the caste system of Germansociety. The virtue of obedience required the German to renouncediscontent with his station, and to accept not only the material statusinto which he was born, with sci
ence aforethought, but the intellectuallimits and horizons of that status. The old Christian doctrine of heresywas broadened to encompass the entire mental life. To think forbiddenthoughts, to search after forbidden knowledge, that was at once treasonagainst the Royal House and rebellion against the divine plan.

  German theology, confounding divine and human laws, permitted no dualoverlapping spheres of mundane and celestial rule as had all previousreligious and, social orders since Christ had commanded his disciples to"Render unto Caesar--" There could be no conscientious objection toGerman law on religious grounds; no problem of church and state, for thechurch was the state.

  In this book that masqueraded as the word of God, I looked in vain forsome revelation of future life. But it was essentially a one-worldtheology; the most immortal thing was the Royal House for which theworker was asked to slave, the soldier to die that Germany might beruled by the Hohenzollerns and that the Hohenzollerns might sometimerule the world.

  As the freedom of conscience and the institution of marriage had beendiscarded so this German faith had scrapped the immortality of the soul,save for the single incongruous doctrine that a child taking his ownlife does not die but lives on in ceaseless torment in a ghoulishChildren's Hell.

  As I closed the cursed volume my mind called up a picture of Teutonichordes pouring from the forests of the North and blotting out whatGreece and Rome had builded. From thence my roving fancy tripped overthe centuries and lived again with men who cannot die. I stood withLuther at the Diet of Worms. With Kant I sounded the deeps ofphilosophy. I sailed with Humboldt athwart uncharted seas. I fought withGoethe for the redemption of a soul sold to the Devil. And with Schubertand Heine I sang:

  _Du bist wie eine Blume, So hold und schoen und rein,_

  * * * * *

  _Betend dass Gott dich erhalte, So rein und schoen und hold._

  But what a cankerous end was here. This people which the world had onceloved and honoured was now bred a beast of burden, a domesticated race,saddled and trained to bear upon its back the House of Hohenzollern asthe ass bore Balaam. But the German ass wore the blinders that sciencehad made--and saw no angel.

  ~8~

  As I sat musing thus and gazing into the spray of the fountain Iglimpsed a grey clad figure, standing in the shadows of a viney bower.Although I could not distinguish her face through the leafy tracery Iknew that it was Bertha, and my heart thrilled to think that she hadreturned to the site of our meeting. Thoroughly ashamed of the faithlessdoubts that I had so recently entertained of her innocence andsincerity, I arose and hastened toward her. But in making the detourabout the pool I lost sight of the grey figure, for she was standingwell back in the arbour. As I approached the place where I had seen herI came upon two lovers standing with arms entwined in the path at thepool's edge. Not wishing to disturb them, I turned back through one ofthe arbours and approached by another path. As I slipped noiselesslyalong in my felt-soled shoes I heard Bertha's voice, and quite near,through the leafy tracery, I glimpsed the grey of her gown.

  "Why with your beauty," came the answering voice of a man, "did you notfind a lover from the Royal Level?"

  "Because," Bertha's voice replied, "I would not accept them. I could notlove them. I could not give myself without love."

  "But surely," insisted the man, "you have found a lover here?"

  "But I have not," protested the innocent voice, "because I have soughtnone."

  "Now long have you been here?" bluntly asked the man.

  "Thirty days," replied the girl.

  "Then you must have found a lover, your debut fund would all be gone."

  "But," cried Bertha, in a tearful voice, "I only eat one meal a day--doyou not see how thin I am?"

  "Now that's clever," rejoined the man, "come, I'll accept it for what itis worth, and look you up afterwards," and he laughingly led her away,leaving me undiscovered in the neighbouring arbour to pass judgment onmy own simplicity.

  As I walked toward the elevator, I was painfully conscious of two ideas.One was that Marguerite had been quite correct with her informationabout the free women who found it profitable to play the role ofmaidenly innocence. The other was that Dr. Zimmern's precious geographywas in the hands of the artful, child-eyed hypocrite who had so cleverlybeguiled me with her role of heroic virtue. Clearly, I was trapped, andto judge better with what I had to deal I decided to go at once to thePlace of Records, of which I had twice heard.

  The Place of Records proved to be a public directory of the financialstatus of the free women. Since the physical plagues that are propagatedby promiscuous love had been completely exterminated, and since therewere no moral standards to preserve, there was no need of otherrestrictions on the lives of the women than an economic one.

  The rules of the level were prominently posted. As all consequentialmoney exchanges were made through bank checks, the keeping of therecords was an easy matter. These rules I found forbade any woman tocash checks in excess of one thousand marks a month, or in excess of twohundred marks from any one man. That was simple enough, and I smiled asI recalled that I had gone the legal limit in my first adventure.

  Following the example of other men, I stepped to the window and gave thename: "Bertha 34 R 6." A clerk brought me a book opened to the page ofher record. At the top of the page was entered this statement, "Bred foran actress but rejected for both professional work and maternity becausefound devoid of sympathetic emotions." I laughed as I read this, butwhen on the next line I saw from the date of her entrance to the levelthat Bertha's thirty days was in reality nearly three years, my mirthturned to anger. I looked down the list of entries and found that forsome time she had been cashing each month the maximum figure of athousand marks. Evidently her little scheme of pensive posing in theHall of Flowers was working nicely. In the current month, hardly halfgone, she already had to her credit seven hundred marks; and last on thelist was my own contribution, freshly entered.

  "She has three hundred marks yet," commented the clerk.

  "Yes, I see,"--and I turned to go. But I paused and stepped again to thewindow. "There is another girl I would like to look up," I said, "but Ihave only her name and no number."

  "Do you know the date of her arrival?" asked the clerk.

  "Yes, she has been here four years and six days. The name isMarguerite."

  The clerk walked over to a card file and after some searching broughtback a slip with half a dozen numbers. "Try these," he said, and hebrought me the volumes. The second record I inspected read: "Marguerite,78 K 4, Love-child." On the page below was a single entry for eachmonth of two hundred marks and every entry from the first was in thename of Ludwig Zimmern.

  ~9~

  I kept my appointment with Bertha, but found it difficult to hide myanger as she greeted me. Wishing to get the interview over, I askedabruptly, "Have you read the book I left?"

  "Not all of it," she replied, "I found it rather dull."

  "Then perhaps I had better take it with me."

  "But I think I shall keep it awhile," she demurred.

  "No," I insisted, as I looked about and failed to see the geography, "Iwish you would get it for me. I want to take it back, in fact it was aborrowed book."

  "Most likely," she smiled archly, "but since you are not a staffofficer, and had no right to have that book, you might as well know thatyou will get it when I please to give it to you."

  Seeing that she was thoroughly aware of my predicament, I grewfrightened and my anger slipped from its moorings. "See here," I cried,"your little story of innocence and virtue is very clever, but I'velooked you up and--"

  "And what--," she asked, while through her child-like mask the subtletrickery of her nature mocked me with a look of triumph--"and what doyou propose to do about it?"

  I realized the futility of my rage. "I shall do nothing. I ask only thatyou return the book."

  "But books are so valuable," taunted Bertha.

  Dejectedly I sank to the couch. She came
over and sat on a cushion at myfeet. "Really Karl," she purred, "you should not be angry. If I insiston keeping your book it is merely to be sure that you will not forgetme. I rather like you; you are so queer and talk such odd things. Didyou learn your strange ways of making love from the book about theinferior races in the world outside the walls? I really tried to readsome of it, but I could not understand half the words."

  I rose and strode about the room. "Will you get me the book?" Idemanded.

  "And lose you?"

  "Well, what of it? You can get plenty more fools like me."

  "Yes, but I would have to stand and stare into that fountain for hoursat a time. It is very tiresome."

  "Just what do you want?" I asked, trying to speak calmly.

  "Why you," she said, placing her slender white hands upon my arm, andholding up an inviting face.

  But anger at my own gullibility had killed her power to draw me, and Ishook her off. "I want that book," I said coldly, "what are your terms?"And I drew my check book from my pocket.

  "How many blanks have you there?" she asked with a greedy light in hereyes--"but never mind to count them. Make them all out to me at twohundred marks, and date each one a month ahead."

  Realizing that any further exhibition of fear or anger would put me morewithin her power, I sat down and began to write the checks. The fund Iwas making over to her was quite useless to me but when I had made outtwenty checks I stopped. "Now," I said, "this is enough. You take theseor nothing." Tearing out the written checks I held them toward her.

  As she reached out her hand I drew them back--"Go get the book," Idemanded.

  "But you are unfair," said Bertha, "you are the stronger. You can takethe book from me. I cannot take the checks from you."

  "That is so," I admitted, and handed the checks to her. She looked atthem carefully and slipped them into her bosom, and then, reaching underthe pile of silken pillows, she pulled forth the geography.

  I seized it and turned toward the door, but she caught my arm. "Don't,"she pleaded, "don't go. Don't be angry with me. Why should you dislikeme? I've only played my part as you men make it for us--but I do notwant your money for nothing. You liked me when you thought me innocent.Why hate me when you find that I am clever?"

  Again those slender arms stole around my neck, and the entrancing facewas raised to mine. But the vision of a finer, nobler face rose beforeme, and I pushed away the clinging arms. "I'm sorry," I said, "I amgoing now--going back to my work and forget you. It is not your fault.You are only what Germany has made you--but," I added with a smile, "ifyou must go to the Hall of Flowers, please do not wear that grey gown."

  She stood very still as I edged toward the door, and the look of baffledchild-like innocence crept back into her eyes, a real innocence thistime of things she did not know, and could not understand.