“I stayed at Meran two years, till I'd learnt all I could there, then a brother of my mother's helped me to get to Vienna; I was lucky enough to find work with a man who used to decorate churches. We went about the country together. Once when he was ill I painted the roof of a church entirely by myself; I lay on my back on the scaffold boards all day for a week—I was proud of that roof.” He paused. “When did you begin painting pictures?” “A friend asked me why I didn't try for the Academie. That started me going to the night schools; I worked every minute—I had to get my living as well, of course, so I worked at night. “Then when the examination came, I thought I could do nothing—it was just as if I had never had a brush or pencil in my hand. But the second day a professor in passing me said, 'Good! Quite good!' That gave me courage. I was sure I had failed though; but I was second out of sixty.” Christian nodded. “To work in the schools after that I had to give up my business, of course. There was only one teacher who ever taught me anything; the others all seemed fools. This man would come and rub out what you'd done with his sleeve. I used to cry with rage—but I told him I could only learn from him, and he was so astonished that he got me into his class.” “But how did you live without money?” asked Christian. His face burned with a dark flush. “I don't know how I lived; you must have been through these things to know, you would never understand.” “But I want to understand, please.” “What do you want me to tell you? How I went twice a week to eat free dinners! How I took charity! How I was hungry! There was a rich cousin of my mother's—I used to go to him. I didn't like it. But if you're starving in the winter.” Christian put out her hand. “I used to borrow apronsful of coals from other students who were as poor—but I never went to the rich students.” The flush had died out of his face. “That sort of thing makes you hate the world! You work till you stagger; you're cold and hungry; you see rich people in their carriages, wrapped in furs, and all the time you want to do something great. You pray for a chance, any chance; nothing comes to the poor! It makes you hate the world.” Christian's eyes filled with tears. He went on: