He put his hand over the body, leaving only the face exposed, then scrutinised Sabina closely. “Well?” “What do you mean?” she asked, knowing perfectly well. “Why, it might be your own photograph—the face, I mean—that’s as far as I can judge.” “But the hair’s done differently,” said Sabina, laughing. She threw back her head, and the laughter bubbled in her round white throat. “It’s rather a nice picture, don’t you think?” he asked. But she was looking at a curious ring he wore on the hand that covered the girl’s body, and only nodded. “Ever seen anything like it before?” “Oh, there’s plenty of those funny ones in the illustrated papers.” “How would you like to have your picture taken that way?” “Me? I’d never let anybody see it. Besides, I haven’t got a hat like that!” “That’s easily remedied.” Again a little silence, broken by Anna throwing up the slide. Sabina ran into the kitchen. “Here, take this milk and egg up to the Frau,” said Anna. “Who’ve you got in there?” “Got such a funny man! I think he’s a little gone here,” tapping her forehead. Upstairs in the ugly room the Frau sat sewing, a black shawl round her shoulders, her feet encased in red woollen slippers. The girl put the milk on a table by her, then stood, polishing a spoon on her apron. “Nothing else?” “Na,” said the Frau, heaving up in her chair. “Where’s my man?” “He’s playing cards over at Snipold’s. Do you want him?” “Dear heaven, leave him alone. I’m nothing. I don’t matter.... And the whole day waiting here.” Her hand shook as she wiped the rim of the glass with her fat finger. “Shall I help you to bed?” “You go downstairs, leave me alone. Tell Anna not to let Hans grub the sugar—give him one on the ear.” “Ugly—ugly—ugly,” muttered Sabina, returning to the café where the Young Man stood coat-buttoned, ready for departure. “I’ll come again to-morrow,” said he. “Don’t twist your hair back so tightly; it will lose all its curl.” “Well, you are a funny one,” she said. “Good-night.” By the time Sabina was ready for bed Anna was snoring. She brushed out her long hair and gathered it in her hands.... Perhaps it would be a pity if it lost all its curl. Then she looked down at her straight chemise, and drawing it off, sat down on the side of the bed. “I wish,” she whispered, smiling sleepily, “there was a great big looking-glass in this room.” Lying down in the darkness, she hugged her little body. “I wouldn’t be the Frau for one hundred marks—not for a thousand marks. To look like that.” And half-dreaming, she imagined herself heaving up in her chair with the port wine bottle in her hand as the Young Man entered the café. Cold and dark the next morning. Sabina woke, tired, feeling as though something heavy had been pressing under her heart all night. There was a sound of footsteps shuffling along the passage. Herr Lehmann! She must have overslept herself. Yes, he was rattling the door-handle.