That shall be your reward." The Wanderer glanced at her in surprise.

There was a bitterness in her tone of which he had not believed her soft voice capable.
"Why do you hate him so if he is mad ?" he asked.
"The reason is not far to seek," said Kafka.

"This woman here--God made her crooked-hearted! Love her, and she will hate you as only she has learned how to hate.

Show her that cold face of yours, and she will love you so that she will make a carpet of her pride for you to walk on--ay, or spit on either, if you deign to be so kind.

She has a wonderful kind of heart, for it freezes when you burn it, and melts when you freeze it." "Are you mad, indeed ?" asked the Wanderer, suddenly planting himself in front of Kafka.