Lotte withdrew her hand, stood up, and went over to the open window. For a moment she looked down, and then she returned to the couch and sat down again. ‘And happiness lies in being Dr Astel’s wife?’

‘I don’t know if that’s where your happiness lies. I don’t know how you feel about him. It’s only because of what you said before you went away, about getting married to him, that I thought … In the last resort our happiness comes from within ourselves, not from outside.’

‘And who told you that I wasn’t happy now, just as I am? Ha-ha-ha! What an outburst! Look here, my friend, you see the mote in another’s eye without seeing the beam in your own …’

‘I don’t understand what you’re getting at.’

‘There’s no need for explanations! It’s perfectly obvious!’

In the next room Siedl’s ugly, rasping voice gabbled something rapidly, swallowing half the words, so that what she said was completely unintelligible to them.

‘Who’s croaking there like that?’ said Lotte with a shudder.

‘That’s Siedl. Her voice is really unpleasant.’

‘And who’s Siedl?’

‘Oh, don’t you know? She’s my landlady’s daughter, an old maid.’

The light from the oil lamp fell directly on Lotte’s face, which was thin and drawn despite the superficial tan from the sharp mountain air, and upon which a new line of suffering was stamped. Her big, wonderful, grey eyes were surrounded by dark circles that made them look even bigger, and quite black. It occurred to Gurdweill that she was probably suffering from insomnia, and for some reason this seemed terrible to him. What did she lack, this Lotte? he asked himself.

‘Perhaps you should take off your hat,’ he said compassionately, ‘otherwise it will give you a headache.’

Lotte said nothing. She may not even have heard him. With her head tilted slightly to the left she sat without moving, staring straight in front of her. She appeared to be sunk in sombre, sorrowful reflections. In the room next door Siedl’s voice fell silent, and down in the street, too, all was quiet. The silence began to oppress Gurdweill. In Lotte’s frozen stillness, she who was so vivacious by nature, there was something very painful, unnatural, and frightening. It grieved him to see her like this, and he wanted to say something, however trivial, to break the silence and distract her. He pressed her hand and said, ‘You still haven’t told me how you spent your time in the Tyrol. If you had pleasant company.’

Lotte started as if from a dream. ‘Pleasant company? What pleasant company?’

‘In the Tyrol?’

‘No! I didn’t go there to look for company.’

‘Weren’t there any other Viennese there?’

‘Yes, there were. Bank clerks and so on. Nobody interesting.’ She shivered slightly, as if she felt cold.

‘Should I close the window? Are you cold?’