"To _become_!" the countess repeated. "I think whoever speaks in that way, _is_ worthy already."
Freyer raised his eyes with a look which seemed to Madeleine von Wildenau to lift her into a higher realm. "Who would venture to say that he was worthy of _this_ task? It requires a saint. All I can hope for is that God will use the imperfect tool to work His miracles, and that He will accept my _will_ for the deed,--otherwise I should be forced to give up the part _this very day_."
"Oh, Freyer, wonderful, divinely gifted nature! To us you are the Redeemer, and yet you are so severe to yourself."
"Do not talk so, Countess! I must not listen! I will not add to all my sins that of robbing my Master, in His garb, of what belongs to _Him_ alone. You cannot suspect how it troubles me when people show me this reverence; I always long to cry out, 'Do not confound me with Him--I am nothing more than the wood--or the marble from which an image of the Christ is carved, and withal _bad_ wood, marble which is not free from stains.' And when they will not believe it, and continue to transfer to me the love which they ought to have for Christ--I feel that I am robbing my Master, and no one knows how I suffer." He started up. "That is why I mingle so little with others--and if I ever break this rule I repent it, for my peace of mind is destroyed."
He took his hat. His whole nature seemed changed--this was the chaste severity with which he had driven the money changers from the temple, and Madeleine turned pale--chilled to the inmost heart by his inflexible bearing.
"Are you going?" she murmured in a trembling voice.
"It is time," he answered, gently, but with an unapproachable dignity which made the words with which she would fain have entreated him to stay longer, die upon her lips.
"The countess intends to remain some time," said Ludwig, pressing his friend's arm lightly, as a warning not to wound her feeling.
"Ah," replied Freyer, thoughtfully, "then perhaps we shall meet again."
"I have not yet answered what you have said to-day; will you permit me to do so to-morrow?" asked the countess, gently; an expression of quiet suffering hovered around her lips.
"To-morrow I play the Christ again, Countess--but doubtless some opportunity will be found within the next few days."