Josephine went on and on, until her upward ascent ended under a sloping attic roof.

Here she knocked at a closed door.
"Come in," said a voice.
She entered a long, low room, which did service as a sitting-room, kitchen and studio, all combined.

A little, old man with a long, white beard and a bald head was bending over a stove, frying eggs.
"Is that you, Nina ?" he said, without looking round.

"If it is, you may as well fry these eggs while I lay the cloth for supper." "No, you can finish them yourself," replied Josephine.

"I'm dead tired.
I'd rather eat no supper than cook it." She flung herself into a long, low wicker-work chair, folded her hands and closed her eyes.