MR. Y. [Cheerily]. Oh, what nonsense!
MR. X. Yes, but I have not been punished for it.
MR. Y. [Intimate, superior]. So much the better for you. How did you get out of it?
MR. X. There were no accusers, no suspicions, no witnesses. It happened this way: one Christmas a friend of mine had invited me for a few days' hunting just outside of Upsala; he sent an old drunken servant to meet me, who fell asleep on the coach-box and drove into a gate-post, which landed us in the ditch. It was not because my life had been in danger, but in a fit of anger I struck him a blow to wake him, with the result that he never awakened again—he died on the spot.
MR. Y. [Cunningly]. And you didn't give yourself up?
MR. X. No, and for the following reasons. The man had no relatives or other connections who were dependent on him. He had lived out his period of vegetation and his place could soon be filled by some one who was needed more, while I, on the other hand, was indispensable to the happiness of my parents, my own happiness, and perhaps to science. Through the outcome of the affair I was cured of the desire to strike any more blows, and to satisfy an abstract justice I did not care to ruin the lives of my parents as well as my own life.
MR. Y. So? That's the way you value human life?
MR. X. In that instance, yes.
MR. Y. But the feeling of guilt, the "restoration of balance?"
MR. X. I had no guilty feeling, its I had committed no crime. I had received and given blows as a boy, and it was only ignorance of the effect of blows on old people that caused the fatality.