Gurdweill heard Perczik’s words as if they were coming from another room. His attention was elsewhere. A strange girl had entered the café and seated herself opposite them, three tables away. She placed three books in black cloth covers — evidently library books — on the table, ordered coffee, and glanced at the people around her. Gurdweill could not take his eyes off her. He suddenly felt a vague unease, as if at the premonition of disaster. There was nothing extraordinary about her appearance. She was neither particularly beautiful nor particularly ugly: one of the flaxen-haired, fair-skinned Viennese girls you met in the thousands in the street or the little cafés after working hours. But for some reason she made a powerful impression on Gurdweill. And when he encountered her penetrating, steely-blue glance, he was forced to turn his eyes away.

In the meantime Perczik stood up and said goodbye.

When he left, Gurdweill whispered to Ulrich: ‘Did you see the new girl? At the third table on the left?’

‘I saw her. What about it?’

‘What do you think of her?’

‘Nothing in particular. A girl like any other.’

‘No! There’s something about her you’ve missed. Something of the old Viennese tradition. The Biedermeier period. Look at the line of authority in the bottom half of her face. I’d like to meet her.’ And a moment later, rather hesitantly: ‘Maybe you could try to introduce yourself to her?’

‘Nothing easier. Watch me.’

Apparently sensing that they were talking about her, the girl glanced at the two men from time to time as she sipped her coffee.

Ulrich stood up and threaded his way through the tables as if he were on his way somewhere else, and suddenly came to a halt next to the girl. He bowed and said with all the politeness at his command: ‘Pardon me for disturbing you, Fräulein. My friend would like to meet you. Will you allow me to introduce him?’

The girl glanced first at Ulrich and then at Gurdweill. She seemed taken with this direct, business-like approach. The stern, definite cast of her features softened into the shadow of a smile. She said only: ‘Good!’

Ulrich beckoned and Gurdweill approached. He tried to adopt a self-confident air, but his efforts succeeded only in upsetting his inner equilibrium and making his movements look stiff and ridiculous.

Ulrich introduced him: ‘Herr Gurdweill, allow me to introduce you to Fräulein …’

‘Baroness Thea von Takow.’

They asked her permission and sat down. Gurdweill felt hollow inside. He knew he should say something but he didn’t know what to say. He felt like someone about to make a speech who had forgotten how to begin. For some reason Ulrich, too, said nothing. The silence became oppressive and embarrassing. In the end Gurdweill pulled himself together and said, ‘You don’t come here often, I think?’