A gentle melancholy seeped through Gurdweill, touching and not touching him — a melancholy that gave him a certain pleasure and that perhaps might better be described as a subtle kind of happiness. It was good, after all, to be able to walk through the streets on a mild spring evening, with close, devoted, kind-hearted people (yes, kind-hearted in spite of themselves); to walk like this without end or aim. Gurdweill sensed the touch of Thea’s arm linked in his, and he felt secure, as if he had finally set foot on dry ground after months at sea in a lost ship. And then he heard Thea saying to Ulrich: ‘Yes, he’s a handsome man … He could be attractive to women … But Lotte doesn’t seem too keen on him.’ He knew immediately who the subject of their conversation was, and he felt a faint echo of his previous distress upon entering the café. No! He, Gurdweill, without any ulterior motives, did not consider Dr Astel handsome. That nose, too long and heavy for his narrow face, which looked as if it were pulling the whole balding head downwards — that could hardly be called handsome! And the little eyes, too, with their nondescript colour, like two oblique, Mongoloid slits, which always seemed to have a different expression from the rest of his face — could anyone really claim that they were attractive? But women apparently thought otherwise. They were usually attracted to him. His elegant clothes, made by one of the best tailors in town, certainly helped. Women liked that sort of thing. In any case, making an impression on the female sex in general proved nothing either to a man’s credit or discredit. You could even say that it was more to his discredit than his credit …

In the meantime they reached their destination. After descending a number of steps they entered a low-ceilinged, spacious hall, fitted out in a deliberately plain, rustic style, and crowded with people. They looked around for a while before selecting a spot in the corner, and sat down at a square, brown table of sturdy oak.

‘I take it you’ve got nothing against Malaga wine, ladies?’ said Dr Astel heartily. ‘It’s heavy and a little sweet, like a summer evening in Vienna …’

As far as she was concerned, said the Baroness, there was no need to order sweet wine for her. She drank spirits too, with pleasure; the stronger the better … But she liked Malaga too. It was a very good wine. And to Lotte: ‘How about you, my dear?’

‘I?’ said Lotte, with every intention of insulting her. ‘I, my dear Baroness, dislike all forms of alcohol. I may drink a little occasionally, but only in order to be sociable, and without deriving the least pleasure from it. Drinking isn’t womanly, in my opinion.’

Thea, who had guessed that Lotte would say something along these lines, was highly amused.