She ran up the steps, the same steps down which eight months before she had glided at Richard's side rocked in bliss. All a-tremble she stepped into the dark anteroom, which had the stuffy smell of a badly aired bedroom. Her hand almost failed her as she knocked at the studio door. Mr. Kellermann in his breeches and slippers was squatting on the floor beside the Turkish tabouret in exactly the same position as at her first visit. He was busied with a coffee machine, and looked contented and seedy. "Mercy on us!" he said, and drew the collar of his night-shirt together. "What signifies this sudden appearance, O noble goddess? Are the suns setting again?" Lilly did not reply. She laid her hat and wraps on a chair, and began to unhook her waist, looking about for a screen. There was none. The models who came to pose for Mr. Kellermann were not squeamish. He jumped up and stared at her. When he realised what she meant to do, he broke into exclamations of delight. "What did I say? What did I say? I said you'd come. You see! We've reached the point at which we're screaming to be set free." "I'm not screaming," she replied, drawing up the corners of her mouth disdainfully. "If you please, look somewhere else." He made a dash for the picture leaning against the wall in its blind frame, blew the dust off, drove the wedge in tight, and adjusted the easel, laughing all the while, and grunting: "She came after all." Lilly had torn off her outer garments and was pulling at the drawing ribbon of her chemise. Her paralysed fingers could scarcely untie the knot. Now she stood entirely unclothed. The garish studio light pricked her flesh painfully as with a thousand needles. She wanted to groan and creep into a corner, but she turned her clenched fists outward, threw back her shoulders, and presented herself to the painter's greedy gaze. "Why don't you begin?" she asked. As she spoke she felt that her smarting scorn was distorting her face. "I'll begin immediately," he stammered, choking over each word. "I won't utter--a syllable--or the vision will vanish. I'll begin." He snatched up the palette, pressed the tubes, and readjusted the picture on the easel. He made a few strokes, then threw the brushes down. He reeled like a drunkard. "No use this way," he said, mumbling to himself. "You must pose." "Just as you wish," she replied, still with that mocking smile, and stretched out her arms like the beauty of the picture. He was not yet satisfied, and wanted to approach her. He did not dare to. "I will move the mirror, so that you can see for yourself what is wrong in your pose." He did so. Lilly shuddered. A strange wild animal, which was not even beautiful, seemed to be standing there. "Not right yet," she heard him say. "The attitude is meaningless--you've got to know what it's for."