"I don't know," answered Harz. "I don't much care. All I know is, I've
got to work."

"But why?"

"For happiness--the real happiness is fighting--the rest is nothing. If
you have finished a thing, does it ever satisfy you? You look forward to
the next thing at once; to wait is wretched!"

Christian clasped her hands behind her neck; sunlight flickered through
the leaves on to the bosom of her dress.

"Ah! Stay like that!" cried Harz.

She let her eyes rest on his face, swinging her foot a little.

"You work because you must; but that's not enough. Why do you feel you
must? I want to know what's behind. When I was travelling with Aunt
Constance the winter before last we often talked--I've heard her discuss
it with her friends. She says we move in circles till we reach Nirvana.
But last winter I found I couldn't talk to her; it seemed as if she
never really meant anything. Then I started reading--Kant and Hegel--"

"Ah!" put in Harz, "if they would teach me to draw better, or to see a
new colour in a flower, or an expression in a face, I would read them
all."

Christian leaned forward: "It must be right to get as near truth as
possible; every step gained is something. You believe in truth; truth is