Besides, when sensation had left you--the soul, the spirit, whatever
you liked to call it--what did it matter what afterwards became of your
body? It was, then, in reality, nothing but lumber, fresh nourishment
for the soil; and it was morbid to care so much how it was treated,
just because it had once been your tenement, when it was now as
worthless as the crab's empty shell.

He stuttered this out piece-wise, in his halting German; then paused,
not sure how his companion would take the didactic tone he had fallen
into. But Krafft had turned, and was gazing at him, considering him
attentively for the first time. When Maurice ceased to speak, he
nodded a hasty assent: "Yes, yes, it is quite true. Go on." And as the
former, having nothing more to say, was mute, he added: "You are like
some one I once knew. He was a great musician. I saw him die; he died
by inches; it lasted for months; he could neither die nor live."

"Why do you brood over these things, if you find them so awful? Are
you not afraid your nerves will go through with you, and make you do
something foolish?" asked Maurice, and was himself astonished at his
boldness.

"Of course I am. My life is a perpetual struggle against suicide,"
answered Krafft.

In the distance, a church-clock struck a quarter to twelve, and it was
on Maurice's tongue to suggest that they should move homewards, when,
with one of his unexpected transitions, Krafft turned to him and said
in a low voice: "What do you say? Shall you and I be friends?"

Maurice hesitated, in some embarrassment. "Why yes, I should be very