"Can't you let me believe that the world is beautiful? Can't you let me be grateful to Him who is the giver of all good things, and rejoice in the happiness life has to offer?"
"Yes, yes, my boy, rejoice, rejoice and believe and hope! As all men strive for the same thing—happiness—you will have the 1,439,134,300th part of a chance of winning it, seeing that the denominator of this fraction represents the number of people on this earth. Is the happiness which has come to you to-day worth the torture and humiliations of the last few months? And moreover—what is this great piece of luck? You have been given a part to play, a part in which you cannot make a success—by which I don't mean that you necessarily need be a failure. Are you sure that...."
He paused for breath.
"That Agnes will have a success in the part of Ophelia? She may make good use of the rare chance and get as much out of the part as most actresses do. I am sorry I made you feel sad; don't believe what I said; after all, who knows whether I am right or wrong?"
"If I didn't know you better, I might believe you that you're jealous."
"No, my boy; nothing would please me more than to see yours and all men's wishes speedily fulfilled; then the thoughts of men might turn to higher things. Perhaps that is the meaning of life."
"You can afford to say that so calmly; you have had success long ago."
"Isn't this a state of mind much to be desired? We do not yearn for happiness so much, as for the faculty of being able to smile at our ardent efforts. I say ardent advisedly."
Eight strokes thundered through the room. Falander rose hastily as if he were going to leave, brushed his hand across his forehead and sat down again.
"Has Agnes gone to see Aunt Beata to-night?" he asked casually.