‘Come, come, my friend, don’t be so modest!’ Dr Kreindel smiled into his cigar, happy to have succeeded in provoking Gurdweill into speech. ‘But how well I understand your modesty! No one better! Both of us are made of the same clay, after all … No, no, don’t deny it; it’s the simple truth! As for the quality of modesty, I know it in all its shades. You could say that I know it inside out. In the words of Lichtenberg: The genius hides in the seclusion of his room, but his perfume … et cetera. Wonderful, eh? But to return to the matter we were discussing before: women, at any rate, aren’t interested in philosophy — here I agree with you completely. Of course I don’t know your own wife well enough to judge. Perhaps she is and perhaps she isn’t — you know best. But as for the rest of them, taken as a whole — including my wife, of course — their interests lie in another direction entirely … either in the marrow or in the bone, as the old Chinese proverb has it.’

‘But Dr Kreindel, you have an inexhaustible fund of quotations,’ said Gurdweill, sneering. ‘And what a memory!’

‘What, my memory, you say — oho! I was already well known for my memory in primary school — a perfect memory! I was famous for it! Memory, he says, as if he’s just discovered America! I could quote you from memory, for example … hmmm … the whole story you published recently, word for word, hee-hee …’

At the sound of these words Gurdweill was seized by a terrible nausea, as if some loathsome worm was crawling over his body. He immediately lit the stub of his cigarette, which had gone out in the corner of his mouth, and drew on it deeply. But he had to go on listening nevertheless.

Dr Kreindel continued in a tone of tremendous satisfaction: ‘Not a bad story, by the way. Well written — nobody could say anything else. First of all: the style! A classic, noble style … the style of a baron born and bred, one might say. Goethe, no less, hee-hee … I assure you, if I had to write the same story myself, I would choose the very same style: a pure, refined style — pearls! I always knew that I could rely on you from that point of view, my dear Herr Gurdweill. What does Morike say? Once you love a person, then love … et cetera. You can finish it yourself, I’m sure!’

Gurdweill could endure no more. The blood rushed to his head. ‘If he goes on one minute longer, something will happen …’ He pushed his chair back so loudly that Dr Kreindel jumped.

‘What is it, Herr Gurdweill? Are you trying to bring the house down, or what?’