Gurdweill was astonished. Such a possibility had not even crossed his mind. She was certainly an interesting girl! The way she said it — so simply! He had never heard anything like it before. He made haste to reply. ‘Of course! Of course! I’m ready; I’ve got no objections!’

And after a moment: ‘But what about your family? They won’t give their consent, will they?’

‘My family?’ she exclaimed scornfully. ‘Who? My cousin Rudolf? And what about me — where do I come in? I’m used to doing as I see fit! And by the way, my father is a very nice man. You’ll meet him and see for yourself. I know he’ll like you.’

They walked down the slumbering streets, discussing the matter at length. The Baroness wanted a ‘real’ wedding: in other words, a religious ceremony ‘according to the Jewish tradition’. In order to do this, she would have to convert to Judaism, which did not seem to present any problems as far as she was concerned. She did not want any unnecessary delays, and they agreed to ‘take the necessary steps’ and get married as soon as she was converted. To tell the truth, Gurdweill felt a certain flicker of uneasiness at the changes that were about to take place in his way of life, but he immediately suppressed it as groundless. Now, he thought with boundless happiness, now the dream he had been cherishing in his heart for so long would come true — within a year, or even two! And from whom? From her! A son from her! Two ancient races! (For Rudolf Gurdweill came from an ancient Jewish family. He could trace his descent to a great and famous rabbi from Prague.)

So great was his joy that he stood still and embraced the Baroness in the middle of the street.

‘A son,’ he whispered ardently, ‘you’ll give me a son, won’t you?’

The Baroness gave him a strange look and smiled without saying anything. It seemed ridiculous to her that this little man wanted a son …

They were in an ill-lit side street. It must have been about half past midnight. In the desolate silence their footsteps echoed with a hollow sound. Not far off the signboard of a hotel sticking out into the lane twinkled with orange bulbs. From the open door of the hotel a tongue of light protruded onto the paving stones and climbed halfway up the opposite wall. Gurdweill felt his companion’s footsteps slowing down without understanding why. When they reached the hotel entrance she stopped. She bent down to Gurdweill as if he were a child and whispered, ‘Why don’t we celebrate our wedding night now, my little fiancé …’