“Besides, you were quite right in what you said; I am in the confidence of the Court.” He
paused, as if he wanted to give K. time to digest this fact. Now they could hear the girls
behind the door again. They seemed to be crowding round the keyhole, perhaps they could
see into the room through the cracks in the door as well. K. abandoned any attempt at
apology, for he did not want to deflect the conversation, nor did he want the painter to feel
too important, and so become in a sense inaccessible, accordingly he asked: “Is your
position an official appointment?” “No,” said the painter curtly, as if the question had cut
him short. K., being anxious to keep him going, said: “Well, such unrecognized posts often
carry more influence with them than the official ones.” “That is just how it is with me,”
said the painter, knitting his brow and nodding. “The manufacturer mentioned your case to
me yesterday, he asked me if I wouldn’t help you; I said to him: `Let the man come and see
me some time,’ and I’m delighted to see you here so soon. The case seems to lie very near
your heart, which, of course, is not in the least surprising. Won’t you take off your coat for
a moment?” Although K. had it in mind to stay only for a short time, this request was very
welcome to him. He had begun to feel the air in the room stifling, several times already he
had eyed with amazement a little iron stove in the corner which did not seem even to be
working; the sultry heat in the place was inexplicable. He took off his overcoat,
unbuttoning his jacket as well, and the painter said apologetically: “I must have warmth.
It’s very cozy in here, isn’t it? I’m well enough off in that respect.” K. said nothing to this,
for it was not the warmth that made him so uncomfortable, it was rather the stuffy,
oppressive atmosphere; the room could not have been aired for a long time. His discomfort
was still more intensified when the painter begged him to sit down on the bed, while he
himself took the only chair in the room, which stood beside the easel. Titorelli also seemed
to misunderstand K.’s reasons for sitting on the extreme edge of the bed, he urged him to
make himself comfortable and actually pushed the reluctant K. deep down among the
bedclothes and pillows. Then he returned to his chair again and at last put his first serious
question, which made K. forget everything else. “Are you innocent?” he asked. “Yes,” said
K. The answering of this question gave him a feeling of real pleasure, particularly as he
was addressing a private individual and therefore need fear no consequences. Nobody else
had yet asked him such a frank question. To savor his elation to the full, lie added: “I am
completely innocent.” “I see,” said the painter, bending his head as if in thought. Suddenly
he raised it again and said: “If you are innocent, then the matter is quite simple.” K.’s eyes
darkened, this man who said he was in the confidence of the Court was talking like an
ignorant child. “My innocence doesn’t make the matter any simpler,” said K. But after all
he could Dot help smiling, and then he slowly shook his head. “I have to fight against
countless subtleties in which the Court indulges. And in the end, out of nothing at all, an
enormous fabric of guilt will be conjured up.” “Yes, yes, of course,” said the painter, as if
K. were needlessly interrupting the thread of his ideas. “But you’re innocent all the same?”
“Why, yes,” said K. “That’s the main thing,” said the painter. He was not to be moved by
argument, yet in spite of his decisiveness it was not clear whether he spoke out of
conviction or out of mere indifference. K. wanted first to be sure of this, so he said: “You
know the Court much better than I do, I feel certain, I don’t know much more about it than what I’ve heard from all sorts and conditions of people. But they all agree on one thing,