"Well," Lilly's guardian resumed, "the time I have to spare for you is nearly gone. You cannot continue with your schooling, that's plain. There's no money for it. But even if you had the means, I'm not certain whether in view of your future--however, a governess may make a brilliant match--it sometimes occurs, chiefly, to be sure, in English novels--but there's the danger, too, that you might--excuse me for the word--on the spur of the moment I can't think of another--besides, it's the right one--that you might be seduced. What I'd rather see you than anything else is the lady in a large photographic establishment who receives customers. But it seems to me you haven't enough self-confidence as yet for that. One must make a deep impression at first sight, because people who leave an order have to have some inducement for coming back to call for their pictures. I've selected something else for you, for the purpose more of giving you a short period of trial than of providing you with a permanent position. It's in a circulating library. It will give you plenty of opportunity--discreetly, you know--not to hide your light under a bushel. The remuneration, I need scarcely say, will be moderate--free board and lodging and twenty marks a month. You will have a chance to let your fancy--I suppose you're not yet _blasé_--let your fancy roam at will in the fields of general literature. There you are, young lady! Mercy on us! Why are you crying?" Lilly quickly dried the tears from her eyes and cheeks. "I've just come from the hospital," was the only excuse she could find. "I'm still a little--I beg your pardon." The prominent lawyer shook his head. His bald spot looked as petted and pampered as a lovely woman's cheeks. "You must get out of the habit of crying, too, if you want to make your way in the world. Tears are not in place until you are 'settled.' Oh, yes, something else--the things your poor mother owned must be sold. The proceeds will serve as a small capital. I lay stress on having such a sum, no matter how insignificant. Now you will go back to your home with my man--the key was deposited at my office--and select what you think you absolutely need or"--he smiled a little--"what filial devotion leads you to prize. Good-by, my dear. In six months come to me again." Lilly felt a cool, soft hand, which seemed incapable of bestowing a pressure, lie in her own for an instant; then she found herself staggering down the dark steps behind a clerk who had been waiting for her outside the door with the key to her home. She wanted to speak to him, ask him questions, beg him for something. But for what? She herself knew not. When the clerk opened up the musty room, where the twilight was broken by shafts of light, as in a tomb, the tomb of her life, the tomb of her youth, Lilly felt that now everything was over and all left her was to fall asleep here and die. The clerk threw the shutters back and raised the windows.