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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 63
The sound of her little feet, keeping time with my
footsteps, drew our nervous systems so closely together
that I felt almost as if I were walking on four feet, like
a quadruped.
In the course of that fateful walk a pruning occurred of
the kind which gardeners call "•ablactation," and which
is brought about by bringing two boughs into the closest
proximity.
From that day I no longer belonged to myself. She
had inoculated me with her blood ; our nerves were in a
state of high tension ; the unborn lives within her yearned
for the quickening fiat which would call them into exist-
ence ; her soul craved for union with my spirit, and my
spirit longed to pour itself into this delicate vessel. Had
all this happened to us without our knowledge? Impos-
sible to say.
Once more back in my room, I determinately faced the
question of the future. Should I flee from danger and
forget, should I try to make my fortune abroad ? The
idea flashed through my mind to go to Paris, the centre
of civilisation. Once there, I would bury myself in the
libraries, be lost in the museums. In Paris I should
produce a great work.
No sooner had I conceived this plan, than I took the
necessary steps to carry it out. After a month had
elapsed I was in a position to pay my farewell visits.
An unexpected incident which happened very oppor-
tunely served as a convenient pretext with which to cloak
my flight. Selma, my whilom Finnish friend, was having
her banns published. I was, therefore, so to speak, com-
pelled to seek forgetfulness and healing for my wounded
heart in distant countries. Anyhow, it was as good an
excuse as any I could think of.
My departure was delayed for a few weeks in deference
to the entreaties of my friends, who were dreading the
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