Shortly afterwards he stepped outside, armed with two schillings and a gnawing hunger. He was in luck, and despite the lateness of the hour he was able to obtain soup and roast beef at a small restaurant in the neighbourhood. Being the only customer, he gobbled down his food in haste, since eating alone in a public place always made him feel ill at ease. Afterwards he walked in the grey, chilly afternoon towards the city centre, brooding on his peculiar situation. No! He could not go home until she expressly invited him to do so. She had chased him out — it was up to her to appease him! Crawling to her was out of the question. Apart from that, it wouldn’t do him any good. And this being the case, he thought miserably, he had no alternative but to find a room for himself. In the long run, this might prove to be the best solution. At least he would have some peace and quiet. But in the midst of these reflections, Gurdweill felt that it would not be a good solution at all, and that it would not even secure him the peace he longed for. Life itself cramped him, suffocated him. There was no air to breathe. Wherever he turned, there was no way out. Perhaps he could only extricate himself by some act of aggression, some sudden, decisive break — but he did not know how or what. Besides, he felt so weak, quite incapable of any decisive action. Once upon a time, before the past year and a half, he had been strong. Then, he had been capable of shaping the course of events to his will. But now, everything had changed. He was a crushed, broken man. And in this state his life was not worth living. He could not go on like this.

Sunk in these sombre reflections, he reached the Café Herrenhof and went inside. He found none of his acquaintances there, which did not disappoint him in the least. He went out again and looked at his watch. It was a quarter to four: he had about half an hour left. He set off in the direction of the Volksgarten.

His mistake lay, perhaps — he caught up the thread of his thoughts again — in the fact that he had ever hoped for peace and quiet, for a placid, normal life like anybody else; and this was the source of all his disappointments. He should never have deceived himself in the first place! He, Gurdweill — and contentment! Some people were destined for suffering from birth, and he was one of them. Nevertheless, however, even if he was fated to suffer, that did not make his sufferings any sweeter …