SCHWARZ.

LULU. (Raising her head.) Paint my lips a little open.

LULU.

SCHÖN. Paint snow on ice. If you get warm doing that, then instantly your art gets inartistic!

SCHÖN.

SCHWARZ. Certainly, Doctor.

SCHWARZ.

DR. GOLL. Art, you know, must so reproduce nature that one can find at least some spiritual enjoyment in it!

DR. GOLL.

LULU. (Opening her mouth a little, to Schwarz.) So—look. I'll hold it half opened, so.

LULU.

SCHWARZ. As soon as the sun comes, the wall opposite throws warm reflections in here.

SCHWARZ.

DR. GOLL. (To Lulu.) You must keep your position just as if our Velasquez here didn't exist at all.

DR. GOLL.

LULU. Well, a painter isn't a man at all, anyway.

LULU.

SCHÖN. I don't think you ought to judge the whole profession by just one famous exception.

SCHÖN.

SCHWARZ. (Stepping back from the easel.) I should have liked to have had to hire a different studio last fall.

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