By the time he got home it was almost six o’clock. Thea was not there, and Frau Fischer informed him that she had not been in all day. Instead of his wife, the morning’s slap leaped upon him the minute he entered the room, as if it had been hanging in the air all this time, waiting for his return. Totally dispirited, Gurdweill sank into a chair next to the table — the very chair upon which Thea had been sitting before the slap. How ridiculous his hasty return now seemed to him! He was overcome by a despair from which there was no escape. Everything seemed to him pointless and worthless: he himself, down to his last thought and deed, and all the people and objects around him. And it seemed to him that it would always be the same, for all eternity: empty, futile, meaningless. Automatically he rummaged in his coat pocket for his tobacco, as if it could rescue him. With no idea what to do next he sat puffing on his pipe until a cloud of dirty, dark-grey smoke formed above his head, filling the room and escaping through the open window. Gradually the twilight penetrated the room and a profound silence reigned, a painful, gnawing silence. It was the day of rest, and the groaning and creaking of the packed, heavy trams below was stilled. There was nothing but the muffled, distant roar of the city itself, which was perceived by the abstract imagination rather than the senses, as if it rose intangibly from his very soul. Gurdweill sat without moving and smoked. But the life-blood was still coursing through his veins, the will to live still stirred somewhere inside him, and the acuteness of his despair accordingly grew weaker and was gradually transformed into a light — and even, to a certain extent, agreeable — melancholy. Yes, even a pinpoint of hope, the palest reflection of a hope, began to spread through his soul like a blood transfusion. There were still a number of things that could be changed! There were still pockets, here and there, of expectations. Even, for example, a child … This child, it was true, had not yet come into the world, and there was no knowing when he would come. But if he did, even if it took a year or more … And why not? Thea was healthy and so was he. Then things would surely be better! Apart from the fact itself — and Gurdweill’s heart almost burst at the thought of it — it was only natural for a child to bring its parents closer together. Thea would stay at home more and she would love the child, their child. Perhaps they would even be able to afford an apartment, a two-room apartment with a kitchen, at the very least … they would have to! You couldn’t stay in one room with a child. And he himself had his own work to do, he would have to get down to it as soon as possible, and for that he would need a corner of his own, too. Yes, he would work hard, he would dedicate himself to his work, his wife, and his son (there was no doubt that it would be a son!). And if he worked properly he would earn enough to make a decent living, and he would no longer have to be a slave to Dr Kreindel or anyone else. And Thea, too, in the last resort a worn-out woman, would be able to stop working for that lawyer of hers and devote herself completely to their child …