IN the studio I find, most unexpectedly, the Suslovskis and Kazia. They have come to give me a surprise.
Why did Antek tell them that surely I should be back soon?
Neither Kazia nor the Suslovskis know me, because I am disguised. I approach Kazia and take her hand; she draws back, somewhat frightened.
"Kazia, dost thou not know me?" And laughter seizes me at sight of her astonishment.
"But it is Vladek," says Antek.
Kazia looks at me more carefully; at last she cries,—
"Tfu! what an ugly grandfather!"
I an ugly grandfather! I am curious to know where she saw a handsomer. But for poor Kazia, reared in the ascetic principles of her father, of course every minstrel is ugly!
I withdraw to our kitchen, and after a few minutes reappear in my natural form. Kazia and her parents inquire what this masquerade means.
"A very simple thing. You see, sometimes we painters render one another a friendly service, and pose to one another for pictures. As Antek, who posed to me for an old Jew. You didn't know him, Kazia, did you, in the picture? I am posing for Tsepkovski. Such is the custom among painters, especially as there is a lack of models in Warsaw."