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She is as alert as a shepherdess to the dingdong of her darling in the midst of the flock. Maria jumps up. She wipes her nose on her apron, smooths down her skirt and pulls open the door. It is a foggy morning; she can barely see the canal beyond the pavement. Willem looms out of the mist. Hello, my lovely. His face splits into a smile. Whatve you got there? she says. Give us a look. What do you want, Maria my duck? He shifts the basket onto his hip. How about a nice fat eel? How do you like it? You know how I like it, she chuckles. How about stewed with apricots and sweet vinegar? Mm. She sighs. Down the road she hears barrels being unloaded from a barge. They fall onto the street, thumpthump, the thump of her heart. How about a herring? he asks. How about a kiss? He moves up the step, closer to her. Thumpthump. Ssh! She backs away. People are passing. Willem hangs his head dolefully. He is a plain manlong, lugubrious, rubbery face, the sort of face that causes merriment in others. She loves it when it breaks into a smile. He is a darling, innocent man and he makes her feel worldlywise. Her! That is how innocent he is. Willem cannot believe she loves him. I came by yesterday. Why didnt you open the door? Oh, the vegetable man was showing me his carrots. You teasing me? I was at the market. She smiles at him. Its you I love. Im like a mussel, closed in my shell. Its only you who can open me. She steps back and lets him into the house. He dumps down his basket and flings his arms around her. Ugh! Your fingers! She leads him through the voorhuis , along the passageway, down the steps into the kitchen. He pinches her bottom as they stumble across to the sink. She yanks the lever. Water gushes out of the tap, onto his outstretched hands. He stands there, as obedient as a child with its mother. She rubs his fingers dry and then she sniffs them. He presses his body against hers; he presses his knee between her thighsshe nearly swoonsand kisses her. You cant stay long, she whispers. Theyre both at home. She pulls him with her, into her bed in the wall. They fall over the wooden rim and collapse, laughing, on the mattress. How warm it is in here; the warmest bed in the place. When they own the house they will still sleep down here because it is her Vanity, vanity, all is vanity. He wanted to rest his hand on the skull, but the painter has rearranged him. Cornelis is talking. In the corner of my eye I see his beard moving up and down, like a yellow furry animal, on his ruff. I urge him silently to stop. I am fortunate that, through my endeavors, I have reached a position of means and rank. He clears his throat. I am most fortunate, however, in possessing a jewel beside which rubies lose their lusterI mean my dear Sophia. For a mans greatest joy and comfort is a happy home, where he can close the door after his days labors and find peace and solace beside the fireplace, enjoying the loving attentions of a blessed wife. A muffled snicker. The painter stifles his mirth. Behind his easel he is looking at me again; I can feel his eyes, though my own are fixed on the wall. I hate him. Worse is to come. My only sadness is that, as yet, we have not heard the patter of tiny feet, but that, I hope, will be rectified. My husband chuckles. For though my leaves may be sere, the sap still rises. No! How could he say this? The painter catches my eye again. He grinswhite teeth. He looks me up and down, disrobing me. My dress vanishes and I stand in front of him, naked. I want to die. My whole body is blushing. Why are we doing this? How could Cornelis talk this way? It is his excitement at having his portrait paintedbut how could he make us such fools? Behind his easel the painter is watching me. His blue eyes bore into my soul. He is a small, wiry man with wild black hair. His head is cocked to one side.