"Are we alone?" he returned, staring suspiciously about him.
"My daughter is above," she answered. "There is no one else in the house."
"And you are poor?"
She shrugged her shoulders indifferently, and by a movement of her hands seemed to put the room in evidence; one or two pictures, standing on easels, and a few common painter's properties redeemed it from utter bareness, utter misery, yet left it cold and faded.
Nevertheless, his next question took her by surprise. "What rent do you pay?" he asked harshly.
"What rent?" she repeated, shaken out of her moodiness.
"Yes. How many crowns?"
"Twenty," she answered mechanically. What was his aim? What did he want?
"A year?"
"Yes, a year."