‘I think,’ I said to Karlchen, ‘it had better be a one-word telegram. It’ll be too expensive otherwise. There:

WIREIMMEDIATELYIFINTENDPURCHASINGLOCALLAKEMAELAR-FORWATERINGWATERGUARANTEEDGENUINETHOUGHFOR-SWIMMINGPURPOSESONLYALMOSTRESPECTFULLY-FRITZCHENANDKARLCHENHEADWATERCOMMISSIONERS.’

‘Well, and now shall we concoct a farewell drink?’ asked Lydia. We ran around and pestered the good lady of the castle for something to drink; we went shopping, but none of it seemed quite good enough; we unwrapped what we’d got and laid it out.

‘What is there to eat?’ enquired Karlchen.

‘What would you like?’ asked the Princess.

‘What I really feel like is some marmot’s tail soup.’

‘Some what?’

‘Don’t you know it? Young folks nowadays! In my day . . . Well, marmot’s tail soup is procured in the Far North by Eskimos. They pursue the marmot until it drops its tail in fright, and in this way . . .’

We flung a couple of cushions at him, and went downstairs to eat.

‘I’d really like to travel via Ulm,’ said Karlchen. ‘There is a young lady I have to see – I’d like to check up on her.’

‘You should be ashamed of yourself!’ said the Princess.

‘Is she good-looking?’ I asked. ‘Well, hardly, I suppose . . . your women . . .’

He grinned – and in the circumstances, was unable to say: What about yours . . .

‘How do you plan to go via Ulm?’ I asked. ‘It’s right out of your way!’

‘I’m not going there,’ said Karlchen. ‘I’d just like to . . .’

‘A proper Casanova,’ said the Princess. ‘Careful, woman,’ I said, ‘sometimes he suits the action to the words, and then things get pretty lively.’

Karlchen smiled, as though it was some entirely unrelated wild man who was being spoken of, and we uncorked a bottle of whisky with an extremely audible ‘Pop!’, whereupon Karlchen was nicknamed ‘Herr Popper’. We sat and drank in great moderation. We talked ourselves drunk. Our four candles flickered in the breeze.

‘Smoke your pipe!’ said Karlchen. ‘Go on, smoke it! He can’t take nicotine, Princess! Is it a new pipe?’

‘That’s the trouble,’ I said, ‘I have to break it in . . .’

‘Aren’t there machines for that?’ asked the Princess. ‘I’ve heard of something like that.’

‘Yes, there are,’ said Karlchen. ‘I had a friend at school who discovered a way of using an air-pump to break in a pipe. I can’t remember how he did it – but he did. I gave him my new pipe, a wonderful new pipe. And he must have pumped at it a bit too strongly . . . and the pipe smoked itself, and there was nothing left of it but a little pile of ashes. He had to buy me a new one. That story always seemed very symbolic to me . . . Yes, but I forget what it symbolised.’ We remained silent, lost in thought.