And so, for the first time since they had been together again, the damnably blessed prank Agathe had played on Hagauer became a subject of their conversation. She vehemently shrugged her shoulders and made a vague gesture of defense.

“Hagauer is in the right, of course,” Ulrich offered, gently and emphatically, for her consideration.

“He is not in the right!” she replied with emotion.

“He is partly right,” Ulrich compromised. “In a situation as dangerous as this we must start out with a completely clear and honest view of what has happened and where we stand. What you did could land us both in jail.”

Agathe’s eyes widened in alarm. She basically knew this already, but it had never before been stated as a matter of fact.

Ulrich responded with a sympathetic gesture. “That’s not the worst of it,” he continued. “But how do we protect what you’ve done, and also the way in which you did it, from the reproach that—” He searched for an adequate expression and found none: “So let’s just say it’s a little bit like what Hagauer says; that it tends towards the shadow side, nervous disorders, defects born of a deficit? Hagauer represents the voice of the world, even if it does sound ridiculous in his mouth.”

“Now comes the cigarette case,” Agathe said with a small voice.

“That’s right, here it comes,” Ulrich said insistently. “There’s something I have to tell you that has been bothering me for a long time.”

Agathe tried to stop him. “Isn’t it better if we undo the whole thing?!” she asked. “Maybe I should talk with him on amicable terms and somehow offer him an apology?”

“It’s too late for that. Now he could use it as a tool to force you to go back to him,” Ulrich declared.

Agathe was silent.

Ulrich returned to his example of the wealthy man who steals a cigarette case in a hotel. He had developed a theory according to which there could only be three grounds for such a theft: poverty, profession, or, if neither applies, some psychological defect. “Once when we spoke about this you objected that one could do it out of conviction,” he added.

“I said one could simply do it!” Agathe interjected.

“Well, yes: on principle!”

“No, not on principle!”

“That’s just it!” Ulrich said. “If one does such a thing, there has to be at least some conviction involved! I can’t get over this! One doesn’t ‘simply’ do anything, there has to be a reason for it, a ground, either an external one or an internal one. The two may not be easy to tell apart, but let’s not philosophize about this; I’m just saying: If one considers something that is completely gratuitous to be right, or if, say, some decision springs out of the void for no reason at all, one comes under suspicion of being pathological or defective.”

That was of course far more, and much worse, than what Ulrich had meant to say; but it coincided with the direction of his misgivings.