Lucas suddenly caught sight of the animal and was filled with admiration. He was of a breed rarely seen in Vienna. Long-legged and very slim, with a long thin muzzle, he resembled a grayhound, though he was much bigger. His coat was long and curly and his bushy tail waved like a pennant in the breeze. His back gleamed like burnished gold, his flanks, chest and neck were silky white, while from brow to nose ran a narrow white streak between two patches of gold. Apparently he was of an exotic Russian breed, a prince of the hunting field. Lucas gazed intently at him, noting the noble grace of his slender legs as he haughtily trotted by, and observing that he kept close to the door of the coach glancing expectantly up at the crystal panes.

Slowly the coach rolled by. A troop of cuirassiers brought up the rear, followed by a string of heavily laden mule-wagons, rattling and bumping over the cobbles. Lucas did not wait to see the end of the procession. Suddenly turning away, reluctantly, he pushed through the crowd and made off in a different direction, as though he were in a hurry.

Shall I always remain a prisoner here? he asked himself. Shall I always go on living alone, helpless, poor, friendless, year in, year out until I die? Round the corner a crowd of wealthy idlers are making their way to Florence, and I can only stand and look on, rooted to the spot! They will drive there free as the wind, resting when they are weary, sleeping under the shade of the forest trees, or on the banks of silver streams, and one day they will be in Florence, they will be wandering about her streets, as if it were all a matter of course! And what will it mean to them—to be in Florence? Oh! I suppose they’ll find it attractive and entertaining enough, and the climate most agreeable; but otherwise it will mean nothing! Absolutely nothing! What can they do there, which they could not do just as well here? Do they expect to find anything in Florence that they could not get just as easily in Vienna? And I must stay here—I, whose home is there, I who could find there the teachers I cannot obtain here. There I could learn all I want to learn—I could paint, model, draw, carve, and find out how stones and metals are worked, how. . . . Oh! I could learn everything, could see with my own eyes everything that good craftsmen have created there from time immemorial!

In his excitement Lucas had been striding along at a tremendous pace, but as his wretchedness and despair gained the upper hand, his step slackened. Oh, well, he sighed, how can a poor devil like me hope to hear of anything? I never see anybody, never dare talk to anybody! If only I had known the Archduke was going to Florence, I should have offered myself as a servant, a stable-boy, anything, no matter what! If only they had taken me with them! I could even envy the dog who is allowed to go along, and get his regular food, and a bed at night, and who will see Florence. . . .

Snow was beginning to fall in small flakes. As Lucas looked up at the narrow ribbon of sky between the houses, he could feel its gentle touch on his cheeks. Suddenly he pulled himself together. As soon as the winter was over, he would find his way to Florence; he was determined on that. As soon as it was warm enough to sleep out in the open again and walk barefoot, he would go out by the city-gate and take the road leading south. He would even beg—what of it? He would walk on until his feet were sore, and at night bury himself in the woods. And if he fell ill on the way, he would lie out in the open until the warm rays of the sun had healed him; and at last he must reach his goal!

In his abstraction he had all unconsciously been walking faster and faster, and he now found himself on the bastion before the house in which he was to live.

From the narrow arch of the porch a woman came out to him. Lucas had seen her before, and knew that she was the porter’s wife. He felt grateful to her because she had received him so kindly and had assured him with a smile that he need not worry about the rent for the attic. And as she caught sight of him now, she smiled again, just as she had done the first time they had met. She was still young, and her exuberant youth and health seemed to be bursting the very seams of her dress.

“Well, here I am . . .” said Lucas.

She nodded, took rapid stock of him and pointed discreetly to the portfolio he was carrying.

“Is that all?”

Lucas did not answer. He had put a few of his father’s best drawings in the portfolio, together with one or two of his own attempts. That was really all he possessed in the world.

The woman looked kindly at him, as though she did not expect any answer and regarded his poverty as of no moment. It was a gentle, understanding and reassuring look.

“Go right in,” she said, jerking her head over her shoulder toward the house. “You know where it is.”

Lucas stepped past her and vanished up the passage. The woman stood looking after him as though he were caught in a trap.

Slowly he climbed the steep, winding stairs. They were so dark that at first, until his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light and he could discern the shadowy forms of the stone steps, he groped his way inch by inch.