He promised all she wanted. Four flights up--a way she well knew. The landing outside Mr. Kellermann's door was filled with clothes-racks, on which awe-inspiring furs and humiliating lace mantles hung. She clung to his arm. Now to her ruin! The large anteroom, into which not a single ray of light penetrated in the daytime, and which Mr. Kellermann used as a kitchen, bedroom and dining-room, had been converted into a sort of fairy forest. Vari-coloured Chinese lanterns swung on the branches of pine trees, and in their dim red glow several couples sat smiling and whispering on narrow bamboo benches. They were so absorbed in themselves that they paid little heed to the new arrivals. All the more animated was Lilly's reception in the studio, which was filled with a bright, glittering mass of humanity. A general "ah," then absolute silence. A passageway naturally formed itself, down which the couple seemed to be expected to pass. Lilly made a gesture, as if to hide behind her friend. But he reached only up to her nose. At the same instant Mr. Kellermann came hurrying up to them. He wore a brown velvet costume consisting of a jacket, knee-length breeches, and a Phrygian cap. Everybody, in fact, wore what seemed to him original and becoming. "Welcome, goddess, queen!" he cried in a voice for the entire company to hear; and since nothing better occurred to him, he pressed kisses on her gloved arm from wrist to elbow. Then he begged to be allowed to show her the incomparable arrangements of his new court of love. She followed him, whispering to her friend to be sure to remain at her side. Electric lights had been hung in the open air directly over the skylight, converting it into a many-coloured, starry heaven. On looking up one really thought a thousand little suns were shining down from out of the night. Rugs and ivy vines divided the left side, where the gable roof sloped downward, into a number of small arbours, the entrance of each of which was hung with gaily coloured bead portières. And over each hung a great printed placard bearing a highly suggestive inscription. The first was called "Arbour of Lax Morality." Lilly turned a startled look upon her guide, who observed with a smile: "That's only the beginning, meant for bread-and-butter-misses and little afternoon-tea-souls like you." And added: "This is but an intimation Of more wicked adjuration," while he pointed to the second entrance, the inscription over which read: "Arbour of Wicked Vows." "Oh, dreadful!" she cried in righteous dismay. Kellermann rolled with laughter. She could not help reading the next two signs, "Arbour of the Right to Motherhood" and "Arbour of the Cry for Man," but she said nothing more. There were two more divisions, a "Powder Room" and an "Arbour of Perversity." This she did not understand.