Since he had abandoned Leonardo for Rembrandt, his customers had fallen off. Mrs. Hering, for instance, was not at all eager to pose any longer. When her mother was not doing it, the job fell to herself. With Clarence away for the better part of the day, she would get busy and finish up her latest work. But inspiration was lacking. She sat for hours at a stretch looking at the walls, the paper, the mirror, where she saw a sorrowful face, turning paler by the day. She should get out and take some air. She went abovestairs to get her bonnet and pelisse. She wore a bonnet chosen for her by Dammler when they were hardly more than acquaintances. It was the prettiest one she owned, and had been insanely expensive, bought at Mademoiselle Fancot’s shop. She remembered well the day they had gone together to buy it, and she had, for the first and last time in her life, chosen two bonnets in one day. It had lost its luster. A pretty black affair with a red rose tipping over the brim, but the rose was becoming frayed at the edges.
