The personnel remained about the same. Only a few dandies dropped away, who saw no fun in life unless it offered them an occasional opportunity to receive a condescending nod from a few lieutenants of the Guard in citizens' clothes. Lilly followed the crowd, and thought it had to be so. For the most part she sat there saying little and smiling a friendly smile. She permitted the gentlemen to pay her court and was moderately responsive. She listened indifferently to the confidences of the ladies, all of whom were well-disposed to her, because as everyone soon realised, Lilly had no desire to poach on another's preserves. They might have taken her to be limited or phlegmatic, if from time to time the champagne had not relaxed her rigidity and enlivened her with a different spirit. She slowly came out of her state of torpor. Her eyes flashed, her cheeks reddened. She laughed aloud, made madcap remarks, told the colonel's club jokes, and finally fell into a sort of ecstasy, in which she sang comic songs in a tremulous chirp, imitated well-known actors, and even danced the bold dances she had seen on the variety stage. Her memory was incredibly good. She remembered things she had heard only once, and quite unconsciously, for in her normal state she recalled even less than others. The wine first had to wash away the barriers that always hemmed her being. Her associates soon became aware of this, and tried to trick her into the condition that promised them a merry entertainment. But she resisted with all her might. She waged constant warfare without even Richard as an ally. It flattered his vanity to have his beautiful mistress admired because of her talents. The next day Lilly always felt bruised and battered and despondent. And sometimes when the field of her spiritual vision was completely filled with red, kicking legs and the empty teasing dribble of comic songs, she heard a still small voice in admonition: "There was a time when you lived otherwise. There was a time when you aspired to the heights." But Lilly feared to listen to this voice. She felt she was worthless because she was defenceless. And because nobody was there who understood her and held out his hand to her. Frequently, on the evenings she was left to herself, she slipped out of the house as if she were committing an evil deed, and took a seat in the gallery of some good theatre, where she thought no one would recognise her; or at a concert, among the music students, who sat on the steps or leaned against the railings, following the selections with thick scores in their hands. Lilly behaved as if she were one of them. But concerts no longer touched her. She felt uneasy and out of place, and turned her attention to some young man because of his bold profile or his fine head of hair. "He is one of those favoured talented persons," she thought, tormented, and looked at him long and languishly, until he returned her dallying with ardour.