Perhaps Lotte was affected by Gurdweill’s strange mood, or perhaps she was following her own train of thought — in any case she said, ‘There’s something peculiar about the atmosphere here. As if everything in the world had suddenly narrowed down and been reduced to one simple, basic thing — something limited, animal, down to earth … It reminds me of a remote tavern in a mountain village.’

Lotte rounded her lips and blew out a puff of smoke. Then she continued: ‘You sit in a place like that in the daytime or the evening. There are only a few customers. Some of them are playing cards with a ragged, worn-out pack, and others are brooding over their beer and scratching themselves in secret. The mountain people are slow-witted and slow-moving, you know, as if they have to carry one of their own mountains around on their backs … They haven’t got much to say for themselves, and you sit there and look at them and suddenly you realise that the whole world with all its complications is slipping through your fingers, simply vanishing into thin air … And all that’s left is this little tavern with the handful of people in it and the giant mountains around. It’s an extraordinary feeling, I’m telling you. And at that moment you’re not in the least sorry for losing the world, despite the great fear that seizes hold of you with the realisation of your utter solitude … On the contrary, the fear itself gives you extra courage, because from now on you’ve got nobody but yourself.’

She fell silent and sucked on her cigarette, which had gone out while she was speaking. Gurdweill hurried to light a match for her. The piano in the next room had stopped playing.

‘And nevertheless,’ said Lotte, ‘when you’re back in town again, with all the crowds around you, you don’t want to renounce the least little bit of it. And it all seems quite natural and self-evident again …’