“_Venus in Furs_,” I cried, pointing to the picture. “That is the way I saw her in my dream.” “I, too,” said Severin, “only I dreamed my dream with open eyes.” “Indeed?” “It is a tiresome story.” “Your picture apparently suggested my dream,” I continued. “But do tell me what it means. I can imagine that it played a role in your life, and perhaps a very decisive one. But the details I can only get from you.” “Look at its counterpart,” replied my strange friend, without heeding my question. The counterpart was an excellent copy of Titian’s well-known “Venus with the Mirror” in the Dresden Gallery. “And what is the significance?” Severin rose and pointed with his finger at the fur with which Titian garbed his goddess of love. “It, too, is a ‘Venus in Furs,’” he said with a slight smile. “I don’t believe that the old Venetian had any secondary intention. He simply painted the portrait of some aristocratic Mesalina, and was tactful enough to let Cupid hold the mirror in which she tests her majestic allure with cold satisfaction. He looks as though his task were becoming burdensome enough. The picture is painted flattery. Later an ‘expert’ in the Rococo period baptized the lady with the name of Venus. The furs of the despot in which Titian’s fair model wrapped herself, probably more for fear of a cold than out of modesty, have become a symbol of the tyranny and cruelty that constitute woman’s essence and her beauty. “But enough of that. The picture, as it now exists, is a bitter satire on our love. Venus in this abstract North, in this icy Christian world, has to creep into huge black furs so as not to catch cold—” Severin laughed, and lighted a fresh cigarette. Just then the door opened and an attractive, stoutish, blonde girl entered. She had wise, kindly eyes, was dressed in black silk, and brought us cold meat and eggs with our tea. Severin took one of the latter, and decapitated it with his knife. “Didn’t I tell you that I want them soft-boiled?” he cried with a violence that made the young woman tremble. “But my dear Sevtchu—” she said timidly. “Sevtchu, nothing,” he yelled, “you are to obey, obey, do you understand?” and he tore the _kantchuk_1 which was hanging beside the weapons from its hook. [Footnote 1: A long whip with a short handle.] The woman fled from the chamber quickly and timidly like a doe. “Just wait, I’ll get you yet,” he called after her. “But Severin,” I said placing my hand on his arm, “how can you treat a pretty young woman thus?” “Look at the woman,” he replied, blinking humorously with his eyes. “Had I flattered her, she would have cast the noose around my neck, but now, when I bring her up with the _kantchuk_, she adores me.” “Nonsense!” “Nonsense, nothing, that is the way you have to break in women.” “Well, if you like it, live like a pasha in your harem, but don’t lay down theories for me—”