Dr Astel belonged to the category of people who always manage to give the impression that they haven’t got a minute to spare, and who add a peculiar air of irritable officiousness to whatever they say or do, as if it were the most important thing in the world. Now he began talking animatedly, to the accompaniment of quick, jerky gestures, about a certain Zukerberg (it was the first time Gurdweill had ever heard his name), who had found his wife in a café in the company of one of his friends, and slapped her face in public and then gone home and tried to shoot himself. Lotte was fascinated by the story, and questioned him closely about the details, as if it had something to do with her. They got onto the tram and rode to the last station in the Hauptallee, not far from the Third Café.

The air here was fresh and somewhat moist. The earth was already touched with green. The long, straight boulevard was almost deserted. Once in a while a car drove silently past, or an elegant carriage whose proud horses trotted over the asphalt in perfect unity. Occasionally a horserider rode past on the riding track at the side of the road, and his horse’s hooves thudded dully on the loose soil.

Lotte hung on the arms of both young men. For some time they walked down the boulevard in silence. Then Lotte said, giving Gurdweill a sidelong glance from her grey eyes, ‘Actually, Gurdweill, it’s a long time since we met.’ And she immediately added, half seriously, half in jest, ‘I was already beginning to miss you.’

‘Well,’ said Gurdweill with a smile, ‘you didn’t miss me too badly, I imagine.’

‘You can never tell …’ she replied. And in a burst of enthusiasm: ‘Oh, how wonderful it is here, children. So wonderful that suddenly you don’t know where you are … You feel as if you have just this moment emerged into the world and that you are seeing everything for the first time. At moments like these, people are ready to perform uncommon deeds. Deeds of self-sacrifice and heroism, or the opposite: bestial deeds, murder; for example …’

‘Hold your horses, my girl!’ cried Dr Astel. ‘I sincerely hope you’re not planning to murder me.’

‘No, no! You have nothing to fear,’ retorted Lotte with a hint of contempt.

Suddenly she freed herself from their arms and jumped up and planted a kiss on Gurdweill’s mouth. ‘It’s Gurdweill who’s in danger, not you!’

‘In that case murder me too, Lotte, darling Lotte, I beg you,’ Dr Astel implored, twisting his face into a ludicrous grimace.

‘Too late, my dear! You’re a coward!’

Gurdweill took Lotte’s hand and placed it in Dr Astel’s. ‘Come along, children, make friends now and live happily ever after.’