"I am living, as befits my means, up four flights of stairs with a poor woman who has taught me how to press flowers." As she said this she caught sight, in the glass opposite, of the elegant woman of the world who had condescended to pay Herr Dehnicke, "comrade of the Reserves," a visit in his gloomy hole of an office. He rose and paced up and down a few seconds between the writing-table and door. His clothes were so tight and new that he crackled and creaked at every movement. He looked as if he had just stepped out of a bandbox, he was so polished and rotund. He was a little bit bald too, already. His face remained very serious, almost careworn. It seemed as if her hard lot weighed him to the earth. "My dear madam," he began, pausing in front of her, and his voice trembled a little, "what I am going to say to you is only prompted by the memory of the many years of sincere friendship that have existed between Herr von Prell and me ..." The scornful, patronising way in which Walter had referred to him in his letter came back to Lilly. "I have had so many happy, jolly hours in his society. I am indebted to him for so much kindness ..." He stopped. He could not, indebted as he was, name the kindness.... "All my life long I shall be grateful to him." Lilly recalled Walter's words: "He feels himself particularly indebted to me because I borrowed money from him on more than one occasion." It was really refreshing to meet with such touching loyalty. "But what I am most grateful to him for is that he should place such confidence in me as to entrust his fiancee to my care." "Fiancee!" Her ears had not deceived her; he had actually pronounced the word. She was startled, but did not contradict him. Until that moment it had never entered her head to consider that there was any binding tie between her and Walter--the poor little irresponsible fellow who could not be expected to look after himself, much less a wife and child. But in the eyes of this man of middle-class morals, and perhaps not only in his but in the eyes of the world, and in her own, the only excuse for her irregular, bungled existence lay in this contingency. If she centred all her hopes and wishes on the absent one whom she never imagined she would see again, she would have a new anchor to cling to. She might even justify herself before God and hope for absolution. This all flashed through her mind while Herr Dehnicke continued to assure her of his friendship for Walter, and fasten on her round eyes of disinterested adoration. "As his representative, and for his sake," he said, coming to the point, "I would urge you most seriously, dear madam, to quit surroundings that are not congenial to you, and find others more fitting to your former rank. It is absolutely necessary if you wish to put your plans into execution." "What have my surroundings to do with my art?" she asked, shrugging her shoulders.