In the very entrance-hall the walls had been painted all over in Cubist forms and conventional designs tortured into weird shapes in endless succession, with splashes of colour here and there, as if to create an impression of the ardent temperament of the designer. “You are cold and passionless,” said he to himself; “of so calculating and cold a nature that if one among you disappears, the others have not enough red blood in their veins to notice his absence?” The butler, the dark severity of whose livery was lightened by small silver buttons and blue lappets, took his hat and coat from him and announced him to the Countess, who was sitting at the tea-table. “We shall not be alone long,” she said; “my husband will be home at five o’clock.” But the decorations of the house had made Wenk feel unsympathetic, and before he answered he cast a hasty glance at the walls of the room. The Countess noticed it. “That is all my husband’s doing,” she said. “To me it appears simply hideous. What are you to make out of it, if one paints a peasant, indicates some freshly painted barns, and then tells the beholder that it is a symphony of Beethoven’s? However, every one to his taste--or are you perhaps a ‘Futurist’ also?” “I cannot say that,” said Wenk, “but you seem to imply that they are the only moderns. Yet all men in secret speak the same language. Our freedom to express ourselves comes only from individuality!” “You want to be free?” said the lady. “Are you not your own salvation? Does not your calling, your expenditure of energy, give you your inner freedom? There is no salvation from without!” “That is quite true,” said Wenk simply; and the womanly image which had haunted him since yesterday, and which seemed to be lost on entering this house, once more returned to his mind. “It is really what we were talking of yesterday, this balance of the forces of good and evil, and I wanted to talk to you about that again to-day.” “I understood you aright,” answered the Countess. “I will confess to you that at first I thought you were on the search for an intrigue, and the idea amused me considerably, for God knows I seek something very different in the gaming-houses.” “You will find what you are seeking in my work, Countess,” rejoined Wenk quickly. Suddenly the butler, in his black livery, with its blue lappets and silver buttons, appeared noiselessly, and bent down whispering something to his mistress. “My husband!” said the Countess to Wenk, fixing a steady and lingering glance on him, and as the Count came forward she introduced the two men. Count Told was an extremely thin man, and gave an impression of excessive sprightliness. He was surprisingly young and very fashionably dressed. He gesticulated a good deal, and the movement of his hands gave prominence to a ring he wore, set with an unusual gem, such as Wenk had never before seen.