"On parting we agreed not to write to each other for the time being. We thought in the struggle ahead of us that eternal waiting for news and that eternal fear for each other would not leave us with the strength necessary for meeting the demands of life. But you probably have gotten a letter from him lately?"

He started, and reflected an instant.

"Yes--that is, no. Not lately. Sometime ago he wrote--he was getting along. He said he was about to make a career for himself. And he asked most urgently as to your whereabouts; in regard to which, of course, to my great distress, I could not enlighten him."

This did not sound very likely. A moment before he himself had been asking for news of Walter, and now when she inquired for Walter's address, he had to acknowledge, stammering, that the letter had not contained an address and for that reason--

It was quite clear he had fabricated.

Probably he hoped to acquire greater importance in her eyes by representing his relations with her lover as still continuing. But since similar motives had led her to trifle with the truth, she had no cause for feeling angry with him.

She now told him the purpose of her visit; described the delicate craft she had learned a few months before, the desire she had to perfect herself in it, and her helplessness when it came to practical matters.

Might she ask Mr. Dehnicke to recommend some artist who could instruct her? That was all she had come to him for.

He listened to her with professional interest, and acted as if he took her plans ever so seriously. But behind the mute thoughtfulness of his features lay something that did not please her. It was not pity, most certainly not. It was rather a holding back and seeking, then an increasing satisfaction, as if he felt he was gaining ground in the measure in which the helplessness of her situation became apparent.

"A very easy matter," he replied, his manner less constrained than before. "There are several real painters among the artists who furnish the models for my business. One of them"--he turned the pages of a book--"Kellermann--the very man--and then--. However, we'll drop that for the present. There are other things to be considered in connection with your practising your profession which, it strikes me, are more important. So please don't consider me impolite if I put some questions to you."

Lilly nodded a.s.sent.

"What artistic training have you had?"

"Well, you see, that's just it," Lilly replied, getting the better of her embarra.s.sment. "Just because I never had any I should like--"

He did not move a muscle.

"What are your means of support?"

She was silent. She felt as if her clothes were being drawn from her body piece by piece.

"I need not tell you," he added, "it's not my intention to pry into matters that do not concern me. But since you honoured me by asking my advice--"

"I still have some jewels," she said, looking at him severely and haughtily. "When they go, I'll have nothing."

He nodded slightly, as if to say, "I thought so."

"One more question: in what sort of a place are you living now?"

"In the sort of place befitting my condition. Four flights up, with a poor woman, the one from whom I learned pasting pressed flowers."

As she said this, her glance fell upon the mirror and showed her the image of the beautiful aristocratic society dame, who had condescended to bestow a visit upon Mr. Dehnicke, "comrade of the reserves," in his dark hole of an office.

He rose, and for a few moments paced up and down between the desk and the door. He was so spruce and his clothes fitted him so snugly that everything about him cracked and creaked. In his polished rotundity he looked as if he had just stepped out of a bandbox. He had a little bald spot, too. But the expression of his face remained serious, almost uneasy, as if he were weighed down by heavy thoughts.

He came to a halt before her and his voice quivered a little as he spoke.

"What I am going to say has its roots in the many years of genuine friendship that unite me to Mr. von Prell--"

The mocking, condescending words with which Walter had recommended him to her, occurred to Lilly.

"I pa.s.sed so many delightful hours in his company. I owe him so much inspiration and--" He stopped. He owed him so much he could not remember it all on the instant. "I will remain in debt to him the rest of my life."

"Who feels he is indebted to me because I pumped him for coin," was what Walter had written. Then there really did exist such touching creatures in the world.

"But I am most grateful to him for the confidence he showed in me by bequeathing his betrothed to me, so to speak."

"Betrothed!" The word had been uttered. She had not deceived herself. It frightened her, but she did not repudiate it. Until that day she had not even dreamed of considering Walter and herself bound to each other, neither herself, nor the poor little fellow who did not know how to care for himself, much less for a wife and child. But then--in the eyes of this man with his middle-cla.s.s morals, that was the only justification for her bungled, ill-regulated existence. And not only in his eyes--in the eyes of the whole world--and, if she cared, in her own eyes, too. If she clung to the man who was practically dead to her, fastening upon him all her wishes and feelings, she would have a support for her entire being. She could ask for absolution and justification even before G.o.d.

All this flashed through her mind with lightning rapidity while Mr.

Dehnicke continued to a.s.severate his friendship for Walter, and look at her with his round eyes in undesirous adoration. Finally he came to the point.

"In his place and for his sake I advise you most urgently to quit surroundings that do not suit you, and create an environment in keeping with your past. If you ever wish to realise your plans you will have to."

"What has my environment to do with my art?" queried Lilly, shrugging her shoulders.

"Well, in the first place you must have a studio where you can receive your customers--where you can show them who you are and the extent of your artistic demands, and what the real nature of your artistic intentions are. That is the only way of preventing your customers from treating and paying you like an ordinary worker."

"But the customers don't come to me," she interjected.

"They should come to you," he exclaimed, talking himself into a degree of eagerness. "An artist with self-respect doesn't take one step outside his studio to offer his wares for sale. You must treat yourself the same way."

She mentally calculated the value of the rest of her brooches, rings, and bracelets, and rejoined with a smile:

"Easily said."

Mr. Dehnicke made a bold sally.

"My sincere friendship for Walter"--now he called him by his first name--"gives me the right--how shall I say? to make provision, to--"

Lilly saw what was coming and shut off further discussion.

"I feel content where I am," she declared, "and until I have created with my own efforts the suitable environment that you so kindly wish for me, I do not feel I am ent.i.tled to make a change."

He bowed. His friendly zeal cooled off markedly. But he asked for her address, so that he might know where he should send her the desired information.

Lilly hesitatingly gave it to him, and added the request that in no circ.u.mstances should he come to see her.

He bowed again, and his coolness became rigidity.

But Lilly rejoiced that she had known so well how to keep him at a distance. n.o.body in the wide world should call her a beggar.

She therefore took leave all the more graciously, for she had not come to him in order to frighten him away forever.

He was quick to profit by her warmer tone, and became ardent again.

If there was anything else he could do for her--if she felt lonely--and required company.

Lilly looked at his right hand, saw no wedding ring there, and smiled "no."