* * * * *
Now he is painting me; we are alone together for several hours every
day. To-day he suddenly turned to me with his vibrant voice and said:
“You love this woman?”
“Yes.”
“I also love her.” His eyes were bathed in tears. He remained silent
for a while, and continued painting.
“We have a mountain at home in Germany within which she dwells,” he
murmured to himself. “She is a demon.”
