He tried to see Elgren as a person, but all he could see was a pompous, fat, funny … caricature of a man. Which he was! Which he was, Josef thought angrily. “Ahhh, just don’t torment me,” he said, in exasperation.

“We’ll be back,” Elgren said.

“No doubt. No doubt,” Josef answered. He glowered at nothing in particular when they’d gone. Elgren was taking him seriously in some way that he didn’t understand, he thought. And now all he wanted was to stay here in this room more than anything in the world so he could paint, while only a week ago all he wanted was to get out of it. Somehow that gave the Hosentaufs a hold over him that no one had ever had before. Was he a prisoner of his own inspiration? Where had his freedom gone?

It came to him all at once that he didn’t even want to go outside; just to paint and keep up with the ideas that were coming to him so quickly for the first time in his life. They fascinated him. Did they frighten him, too, coming from nowhere as they seemed to? “Bah!” he said aloud. Thinking could drive you crazy. He went back to work. In a matter of minutes he forgot everything but the painting on the easel.

It was early twilight when Elgren and Jonathan returned, and instantly Josef sensed a change in their manner. For one thing, they weren’t wearing work clothes; they were dressed for visiting. For another, there was an odd formality in the way they entered the room; quietly, not yelling or shouting at him; soberly. He was still painting, trying to get the last use of the daylight, and he said, impatiently, “Can’t it wait? My first day of sunlight. Can’t I at least use it all?”

“We’ll wait,” Elgren said, as if he were a pleasant stranger or prospective buyer in to look at paintings. Beside him, Jonathan nodded with a broad smile. Josef was alerted. If Jonathan was smiling, something was really wrong, he thought. He began cleaning his brushes in turpentine; his mustache bristling. He was getting low on supplies, and where would he get more?

“May we sit down?” Elgren asked.

The polite question so alarmed Josef that he turned around too quickly and knocked his palette to the floor.

“I’ll get it,” Jonathan said, retrieving it, and getting paints all over his hands.

At the sight of this help from Jonathan, Josef plunked himself down on the edge of the bed, threw up his hands, and said, “All right, I give up. What are you trying to do?”

Elgren cleared his throat. “We, ah, had a family conference about you,” he began.

“Ahhh,” Josef groaned.

“No, no. We’ve some matters to discuss with you quite frankly. To your advantage—”