At the appointed time Lüdecke carried down to the gondola the portmanteau containing the gown in which Lozoncyi had seen Erika at Frau von Neerwinden's, and in which he had wished to immortalize her. The two ladies were not accompanied even by a maid, Erika declaring that she needed no help in arranging her toilette for the portrait.
The sky was cloudless, the air warm but not oppressive. The gondoliers rowed merrily and quickly.
Lozoncyi's studio was back of the Rialto, on one of the narrower water-ways to the left of the Grand Canal. In about a quarter of an hour the gondola stopped before a light-green door with an iron lion's head in the centre of it. One of the gondoliers knocked with the ring depending from the lion's mouth.
Lozoncyi himself opened the door. He wore a faded linen blouse, and appeared greatly elated. "To the very last moment I was afraid of an excuse, and here you are, only a quarter of an hour late!" he cried, in a tone of cordial welcome; then, taking the portmanteau from the attendant gondolier, he called loudly, "Lucrezia! Lucrezia!" "You must excuse me, ladies," he said: "my house does not boast electric bells."
From a passage at the head of the stone staircase there appeared an old Venetian woman, with large earrings in her ears, and thick waving gray hair brushed back from her temples and coiled in a knot at the back of her head, the antique style of which suited admirably her regular classic features. She smiled a welcome to the ladies, thereby displaying a double row of dazzling white teeth, while Lozoncyi in fluent Italian ordered her to take the portmanteau to the dressing-room and unpack it.
Along the narrow passage leading directly through the house from the water, they walked into the garden, a tangle of luxuriant growth. The bushes were already clothed in tender green, and here and there through the young leaves could be seen a spray of white hawthorn.
"Oh, how charming!" exclaimed Erika.
"Is it not?" said the painter. "I came here for the sake of the garden. A spot of earth is so precious in this watery Venice."
"Do not forget your Lucrezia: her beauty exceeds that of your garden," the old Countess remarked.
"My old factotum? Yes, she has a fine face, magnificent features. I cannot endure anything ugly about me. But did you notice how short and stout she is?" He asked the question with so genuine an air of annoyance that the old Countess could not help laughing.