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He
went
straight
to
the
painter
,
who
lived
in
an
outlying
part
of
town
which
was
very
near
to
the
court
offices
,
although
this
area
was
even
poorer
,
the
houses
were
darker
,
the
streets
were
full
of
dirt
that
slowly
blew
about
over
the
half-melted
snow
.
In
the
great
gateway
to
the
building
where
the
painter
lived
only
one
of
the
two
doors
was
open
,
a
hole
had
been
broken
open
in
the
wall
by
the
other
door
,
and
as
K.
approached
it
a
repulsive
,
yellow
,
steaming
liquid
shot
out
causing
some
rats
to
scurry
away
into
the
nearby
canal
.
Down
by
the
staircase
there
was
a
small
child
lying
on
its
belly
crying
,
but
it
could
hardly
be
heard
because
of
the
noise
from
a
metal-workshop
on
the
other
side
of
the
entrance
hall
,
drowning
out
any
other
sound
.
The
door
to
the
workshop
was
open
,
three
workers
stood
in
a
circle
around
some
piece
of
work
that
they
were
beating
with
hammers
.
A
large
tin
plate
hung
on
the
wall
,
casting
a
pale
light
that
pushed
its
way
in
between
two
of
the
workers
,
lighting
up
their
faces
and
their
work-aprons
.
K.
did
no
more
than
glance
at
any
of
these
things
,
he
wanted
to
get
things
over
with
here
as
soon
as
possible
,
to
exchange
just
a
few
words
to
find
out
how
things
stood
with
the
painter
and
go
straight
back
to
the
bank
.
Even
if
he
had
just
some
tiny
success
here
it
would
still
have
a
good
effect
on
his
work
at
the
bank
for
that
day
.
On
the
third
floor
he
had
to
slow
down
his
pace
,
he
was
quite
out
of
breath
-
the
steps
,
just
like
the
height
of
each
floor
,
were
much
higher
than
they
needed
to
be
and
he
'd
been
told
that
the
painter
lived
right
up
in
the
attic
.
The
air
was
also
quite
oppressive
,
there
was
no
proper
stairwell
and
the
narrow
steps
were
closed
in
by
walls
on
both
sides
with
no
more
than
a
small
,
high
window
here
and
there
.
Just
as
K.
paused
for
a
while
some
young
girls
ran
out
of
one
of
the
flats
and
rushed
higher
up
the
stairs
,
laughing
.
K.
followed
them
slowly
,
caught
up
with
one
of
the
girls
who
had
stumbled
and
been
left
behind
by
the
others
,
and
asked
her
as
they
went
up
side
by
side
,
"
Is
there
a
painter
,
Titorelli
,
who
lives
here
?
"
The
girl
,
hardly
thirteen
years
old
and
somewhat
hunchbacked
,
jabbed
him
with
her
elbow
and
looked
at
him
sideways
.
Her
youth
and
her
bodily
defects
had
done
nothing
to
stop
her
being
already
quite
depraved
.
She
did
not
smile
once
,
but
looked
at
K.
earnestly
,
with
sharp
,
acquisitive
eyes
.
K.
pretended
not
to
notice
her
behaviour
and
asked
,
"
Do
you
know
Titorelli
,
the
painter
?
"
She
nodded
and
asked
in
reply
,
"
What
d'you
want
to
see
him
for
?
"
K.
thought
it
would
be
to
his
advantage
quickly
to
find
out
something
more
about
Titorelli
.
"
I
want
to
have
him
paint
my
portrait
,
"
he
said
.
"
Paint
your
portrait
?
"
she
asked
,
opening
her
mouth
too
wide
and
lightly
hitting
K.
with
her
hand
as
if
he
had
said
something
extraordinarily
surprising
or
clumsy
,
with
both
hands
she
lifted
her
skirt
,
which
was
already
very
short
,
and
,
as
fast
as
she
could
,
she
ran
off
after
the
other
girls
whose
indistinct
shouts
lost
themselves
in
the
heights
.
At
the
next
turn
of
the
stairs
,
however
,
K.
encountered
all
the
girls
once
more
.
The
hunchbacked
girl
had
clearly
told
them
about
K.
's
intentions
and
they
were
waiting
for
him
.
They
stood
on
both
sides
of
the
stairs
,
pressing
themselves
against
the
wall
so
that
K.
could
get
through
between
them
,
and
smoothed
their
aprons
down
with
their
hands
.
All
their
faces
,
even
in
this
guard
of
honour
,
showed
a
mixture
of
childishness
and
depravity
.
Up
at
the
head
of
the
line
of
girls
,
who
now
,
laughing
,
began
to
close
in
around
K.
,
was
the
hunchback
who
had
taken
on
the
role
of
leader
.
It
was
thanks
to
her
that
K.
found
the
right
direction
without
delay
-
he
would
have
continued
up
the
stairs
straight
in
front
of
him
,
but
she
showed
him
that
to
reach
Titorelli
he
would
need
to
turn
off
to
one
side
.
The
steps
that
led
up
to
the
painter
were
especially
narrow
,
very
long
without
any
turning
,
the
whole
length
could
be
seen
in
one
glance
and
,
at
the
top
,
at
Titorelli
's
closed
door
,
it
came
to
its
end
.
This
door
was
much
better
illuminated
than
the
rest
of
the
stairway
by
the
light
from
a
small
skylight
set
obliquely
above
it
,
it
had
been
put
together
from
unpainted
planks
of
wood
and
the
name
"
Titorelli
"
was
painted
on
it
in
broad
,
red
brushstrokes
.
K.
was
no
more
than
half
way
up
the
steps
,
accompanied
by
his
retinue
of
girls
,
when
,
clearly
the
result
of
the
noise
of
all
those
footsteps
,
the
door
opened
slightly
and
in
the
crack
a
man
who
seemed
to
be
dressed
in
just
his
nightshirt
appeared
.
"
Oh
!
"
he
cried
,
when
he
saw
the
approaching
crowd
,
and
vanished
.
The
hunchbacked
girl
clapped
her
hands
in
glee
and
the
other
girls
crowded
in
behind
K.
to
push
him
faster
forward
.
They
still
had
not
arrived
at
the
top
,
however
,
when
the
painter
up
above
them
suddenly
pulled
the
door
wide
open
and
,
with
a
deep
bow
,
invited
K.
to
enter
.
The
girls
,
on
the
other
hand
,
he
tried
to
keep
away
,
he
did
not
want
to
let
any
of
them
in
however
much
they
begged
him
and
however
much
they
tried
to
get
in
-
if
they
could
not
get
in
with
his
permission
they
would
try
to
force
their
way
in
against
his
will
.
The
only
one
to
succeed
was
the
hunchback
when
she
slipped
through
under
his
outstretched
arm
,
but
the
painter
chased
after
her
,
grabbed
her
by
the
skirt
,
span
her
once
round
and
set
her
down
again
by
the
door
with
the
other
girls
who
,
unlike
the
first
,
had
not
dared
to
cross
the
doorstep
while
the
painter
had
left
his
post
.
K.
did
not
know
what
he
was
to
make
of
all
this
,
as
they
all
seemed
to
be
having
fun
.
One
behind
the
other
,
the
girls
by
the
door
stretched
their
necks
up
high
and
called
out
various
words
to
the
painter
which
were
meant
in
jest
but
which
K.
did
not
understand
,
and
even
the
painter
laughed
as
the
hunchback
whirled
round
in
his
hand
.
Then
he
shut
the
door
,
bowed
once
more
to
K.
,
offered
him
his
hand
and
introduced
himself
,
saying
,
"
Titorelli
,
painter
"
.
K.
pointed
to
the
door
,
behind
which
the
girls
were
whispering
,
and
said
,
"
You
seem
to
be
very
popular
in
this
building
.
"
"
Ach
,
those
brats
!
"
said
the
painter
,
trying
in
vain
to
fasten
his
nightshirt
at
the
neck
.
He
was
also
bare-footed
and
,
apart
from
that
,
was
wearing
nothing
more
than
a
loose
pair
of
yellowish
linen
trousers
held
up
with
a
belt
whose
free
end
whipped
to
and
fro
.
"
Those
kids
are
a
real
burden
for
me
,
"
he
continued
.
The
top
button
of
his
nightshirt
came
off
and
he
gave
up
trying
to
fasten
it
,
fetched
a
chair
for
K.
and
made
him
sit
down
on
it
.
"
I
painted
one
of
them
once
-
she
's
not
here
today
-
and
ever
since
then
they
've
been
following
me
about
.
If
I
'm
here
they
only
come
in
when
I
allow
it
,
but
as
soon
as
I
've
gone
out
there
's
always
at
least
one
of
them
in
here
.
They
had
a
key
made
to
my
door
and
lend
it
round
to
each
other
.
It
's
hard
to
imagine
what
a
pain
that
is
.
Suppose
I
come
back
home
with
a
lady
I
'm
going
to
paint
,
I
open
the
door
with
my
own
key
and
find
the
hunchback
there
or
something
,
by
the
table
painting
her
lips
red
with
my
paintbrush
,
and
meanwhile
her
little
sisters
will
be
keeping
guard
for
her
,
moving
about
and
causing
chaos
in
every
corner
of
the
room
.
Or
else
,
like
happened
yesterday
,
I
might
come
back
home
late
in
the
evening
-
please
forgive
my
appearance
and
the
room
being
in
a
mess
,
it
is
to
do
with
them
-
so
,
I
might
come
home
late
in
the
evening
and
want
to
go
to
bed
,
then
I
feel
something
pinching
my
leg
,
look
under
the
bed
and
pull
another
of
them
out
from
under
it
.
I
do
n't
know
why
it
is
they
bother
me
like
this
,
I
expect
you
've
just
seen
that
I
do
nothing
to
encourage
them
to
come
near
me
.
And
they
make
it
hard
for
me
to
do
my
work
too
,
of
course
.
If
I
did
n't
get
this
studio
for
nothing
I
'd
have
moved
out
a
long
time
ago
.
"
Just
then
,
a
little
voice
,
tender
and
anxious
,
called
out
from
under
the
door
,
"
Titorelli
,
can
we
come
in
now
?
"
"
No
,
"
answered
the
painter
.
"
Not
even
just
me
,
by
myself
?
"
the
voice
asked
again
.
"
Not
even
just
you
,
"
said
the
painter
,
as
he
went
to
the
door
and
locked
it
.
Meanwhile
,
K.
had
been
looking
round
the
room
,
if
it
had
not
been
pointed
out
it
would
never
have
occurred
to
him
that
this
wretched
little
room
could
be
called
a
studio
.
It
was
hardly
long
enough
or
broad
enough
to
make
two
steps
.
Everything
,
floor
,
walls
and
ceiling
,
was
made
of
wood
,
between
the
planks
narrow
gaps
could
be
seen
.
Across
from
where
K.
was
,
the
bed
stood
against
the
wall
under
a
covering
of
many
different
colours
.
In
the
middle
of
the
room
a
picture
stood
on
an
easel
,
covered
over
with
a
shirt
whose
arms
dangled
down
to
the
ground
.
Behind
K.
was
the
window
through
which
the
fog
made
it
impossible
to
see
further
than
the
snow
covered
roof
of
the
neighbouring
building
.
The
turning
of
the
key
in
the
lock
reminded
K.
that
he
had
not
wanted
to
stay
too
long
.
So
he
drew
the
manufacturer
's
letter
out
from
his
pocket
,
held
it
out
to
the
painter
and
said
,
"
I
learned
about
you
from
this
gentleman
,
an
acquaintance
of
yours
,
and
it
's
on
his
advice
that
I
've
come
here
"
.
The
painter
glanced
through
the
letter
and
threw
it
down
onto
the
bed
.
If
the
manufacturer
had
not
said
very
clearly
that
Titorelli
was
an
acquaintance
of
his
,
a
poor
man
who
was
dependent
on
his
charity
,
then
it
would
really
have
been
quite
possible
to
believe
that
Titorelli
did
not
know
him
or
at
least
that
he
could
not
remember
him
.
This
impression
was
augmented
by
the
painter
's
asking
,
"
Were
you
wanting
to
buy
some
pictures
or
did
you
want
to
have
yourself
painted
?
"
K.
looked
at
the
painter
in
astonishment
.
What
did
the
letter
actually
say
?
K.
