Wolkenlicht's heart bounded with delight, which he tried to hide:
the second smile of Teufelsbuerst might have shown him that he had ill
succeeded. The fact that he was not a native of Prague, but coming from a
distant part of the country, was entirely his own master in the city,
rendered this condition perfectly easy to fulfil; and that very afternoon
he entered the studio of Teufelsbuerst as his scholar and servant.
"It was a great room, filled with the appliances and results of art. Many
pictures, festooned with cobwebs, were hung carelessly on the dirty walls.
Others, half finished, leaned against them, on the floor. Several, in
different stages of progress, stood upon easels. But all spoke the cruel
bent of the artist's genius. In one corner a lay figure was extended on a
couch, covered with a pall of black velvet. Through its folds, the form
beneath was easily discernible; and one hand and forearm protruded from
beneath it, at right angles to the rest of the frame. Lottchen could not
help shuddering when he saw it.
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