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 assent. "What artistic training have you had?" "Well, you see, that's just it," Lilly replied, getting the better of her embarrassment. "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 passed 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."