new charm to the wooing of this German girl. It suited his imaginative temperament – it was a change and a relief from his relations with Tryphosa; for if difficulty spurred István, too great ease made him relax. It is probable that the dreadful earnestness of the love which Tryphosa offered him had been the reason of his so rapidly cooling towards her. It oppressed him to be loved in that tragically serious manner. Of course he liked to be loved by a woman; but, the climax once passed, he preferred to treat the matter somewhat more lightly, and, above all, somewhat more expeditiously.
For one moment in the cave István's self-confidence had tottered. The figure of the short-sighted lawyer had seemed to obscure his path; but it had only been for one moment. His nature was elastic, and his vanity wellnigh invincible. A very little reflection had told him that the idea of that man being his rival was no more than an amusing thought, to be laughed at and dismissed. Just put his personal advantages opposite to those of Dr Komers, and what woman could hesitate? Let alone worldly advantages, István, to do him justice, thought a great deal more of the personal than of the worldly advantages. He had been so used to riches all his life, that he set no store by them. If he had set more store by them, he surely would have hesitated a little longer before abandoning the fabulously rich Roumanian princess for the sake of a penniless German girl. His passion of the moment had the same effect as the light of a brightly burning lamp – it made everything very distinct all around it, as far as the rays fall, and very dark all beyond. It is only that circle of light which exists for the moment, as long as the wick has food enough to burn.
He had begun by paying attention to Gretchen, because he was struck by her beauty, because it was agreeable and amusing to pay her attention, and because he had no principles which forbade him to do an agreeable and amusing thing, even if thereby he was breaking his faith towards another woman. She had piqued him by the force of contrast. She was different in disposition, in colouring, in everything, from the women he was accustomed to meet; different, in particular, from the last woman he had loved. There could be no sharper contrast than Tryphosa and Gretchen; and if he had never known Tryphosa, István might never have loved Gretchen so hotly as he loved her now. But it was not merely with other women that she contrasted; she embodied a contrast in herself. This girl, who looked like an Ophelia and talked like a philosopher, who moved like an Undine and argued like a logician, had from the first moment caught his fancy. The harmonious discord which she presented was just of the sort to rouse István's interest. The very first words she had ever addressed to him had surprised him almost as much as though a rosebud had opened its petals to remark that two and two make four, and that therefore it stood to reason that the half of four was two.
István had begun, therefore, to pay attention to Gretchen because it was pleasant, and he had gone on because it became more pleasant.
Very likely it was only quite lately that he had reached the point of confessing to himself that his promises to Tryphosa were to count as nothing. There was no struggle to fight through, no agonies
