In the days preceding his marriage, Gurdweill was in a daze. He perceived everything around him as if through a fog. The truth was that he was far from the happy and contented state to be expected from a prospective bridegroom. He seemed more like someone preoccupied by a very important matter that required the concentration of all his spiritual resources. And there really were a number of minor matters that demanded his attention, matters that had acquired a new importance in the light of the change about to take place in his way of life. Including the urgent need to find some sort of job.

He had been to visit Thea’s father several times. Despite his sixty years the Baron was a strong, erect figure of a man, the sprinkling of grey at his temples only adding an extra touch of aristocracy to his features. Apart from Thea, he had two adult sons, Poldy and Freddy; a second wife; and a fat, lazy black-and-white cat, to whom he devoted most of his time. He lived modestly on the income from some fund, drastically reduced by the ten thousand per cent devaluation of the Austrian currency, and on Poldy’s salary as a bank clerk. He liked Gurdweill from the moment he met him, and invited him over several times to drink black coffee and play chess, which according to Thea was a sure sign of his approval.

Gurdweill met Thea every evening, usually in their café. Once, he waited for her outside her office, in Johannesgasse, but she was not pleased. After the boring day’s work in the office, she said, she needed a change of air to recover her strength, and there was nothing better for her than a solitary walk in the bustle and noise of the streets. Although it seemed a little strange to him, Gurdweill gave in and did not go to meet her again. They had already paid several visits to Gurdweill’s regular café, the Herrenhof, where they had arranged to meet this evening too, but until then he still had a long time — more than four hours — to fill in. Gurdweill tried to work for a while, but after writing a few lines he realised that he was not alert enough to work today, and he decided to go outside.

The city was bathed in spring sunshine, and the trees in the gardens next to the streets were already in full leaf. Gurdweill wandered pleasantly from street to street, bare-headed, his stick in his hand, the silver-knobbed stick he had once received as a gift from Dr Astel, which had been hibernating behind the wardrobe and revived with the stirring of spring, to accompany Gurdweill wherever he went until the autumn, as a kind of substitute for his hat, which stayed at home as long as summer lasted.