Ulrich had already left. The dark, cloudy day outside did nothing to dampen Gurdweill’s spirits. In his imagination he joyfully went over every single detail of yesterday’s great event: Baroness Thea von Takow appeared before him as large as life, tall, erect, blonde, and even beautiful in her navy-blue wool coat with the black-jacketed library books in her hand; and in the light of her person everything took on a new significance. Everything now strove towards a definite aim. Life no longer groped shame-faced in the dark, as it had seemed to do up to now. It had become open and clear; it had a firm, visible outline. It was suddenly clear to him that his long, difficult journey had deliberately led him, with all its vicissitudes, straight to this point.

Gurdweill rose and began shaving himself carefully and lovingly. He suddenly seemed particularly precious to himself, in need of devoted care and attention. You might say that at this moment he felt respect for himself. Even his face did not seem ugly to him — not in the least ugly. His nose was where it should be, a well-developed, manly nose; the eyes were fine; the brow, the hair, not bad, not bad at all. As for being short — this was not such a terrible disadvantage. The facts spoke for themselves! Frau Fischer, the deaf old landlady, came in with her broom — without knocking first, as usual. Gurdweill did not realise she was there until she was standing beside him.

‘Herr Gurdweill is making himself handsome again, I see,’ the old woman said in a hoarse whisper, exposing a few black stumps of teeth. ‘I do like to see a man shaving. My dear departed husband’ — she never omitted the epithet ‘dear’ when referring to any member of her family, alive or dead — ‘my dear departed husband always let me stand next to him and watch when he shaved. Aie, aie, aie!’

She leaned the broom against the wall and, with a damp cloth, began wiping the cupboard and the backs of the chairs and the bed, only in the places exposed to the eye. After a moment she came back to Gurdweill and sighed deeply.

‘Sick and tired, that’s what I am! Aren’t you sick and tired, Herr Gurdweill?’

No, Gurdweill was not ‘sick and tired’. He smiled to himself without replying.