“What’s that? There’s no such thing, now. I left all that at home before I came to see you ...” That’s right, just you listen, that’s what you’re like! Nice little sons you are, you fine young gentlemen; I could almost feel sorry for your mothers! ...’

At these words Törless remembered his earlier notion of himself. Leaving everything behind him and betraying the image of his parents. And now he was forced to see that he wasn’t even doing something terribly solitary, just something quite vulgar. He was ashamed. But the other thoughts were there again as well. They’re doing it too! They’re betraying you! You have secret associates! Maybe it’s different for them in some way, but in essence it must still be the same: a mysterious, terrible joy. Something in which one can drown oneself along with all one’s fear of the monotony of days ... Might they even know something more? Something quite out of the ordinary? Because they’re so calm during the day ... and that laugh of your mother’s? As though she was calmly walking to close all the doors ...

In the midst of this argument there came a moment at which Törless abandoned himself and yielded, heart choking, to the storm.

And at that very moment Božena rose to her feet and walked over to him.

‘Why isn’t the little one saying anything? Is he worried about something?’

Beineberg whispered something and smiled maliciously.

‘What, homesick are we? Has Mummy gone and left him? And the nasty boy comes running straight to someone like me!’

Božena tenderly buried her hand in his hair, fingers splayed. ‘Go on, don’t be stupid. Give me a kiss, there. The nobility aren’t made of sugar-candy,’ and she bent his head back.

Törless wanted to say something, to stir himself to make a crude joke. He felt that everything now depended upon saying something irrelevant, but he couldn’t utter a sound. With a petrified smile he stared into the ravaged face above his own, into those vacant eyes, then the outside world began to grow smaller ... to move further and further away ... For a moment the image of that peasant lad who had picked up the stone came into his mind and seemed to scoff at him ... then he was quite alone.

 

‘Hey, I’ve got him,’ whispered Reiting.

‘Who?’

‘The locker thief.’

Törless had just come back with Beineberg. It was just before supper-time, and the staff on duty had already gone home. Chattering groups had formed among the green tables, and a warm life hummed and whirred through the hall.

It was an ordinary classroom with whitewashed walls, a big black crucifix and portraits of the Emperor and Empress on either side of the blackboard. Next to the big iron stove, as yet unlit, some of them on the podium, some on chairs arranged around it, sat the young people who had accompanied Herr and Frau Törless to the station that afternoon. Apart from Reiting, they were tall Hofmeier and Jusch, the nickname given to a little Polish count.

Törless was fairly curious.

The lockers were at the back of the classroom, long boxes with lockable drawers, in which the pupils at the institute stored their letters, books, money and every imaginable knick-knack.

And for some time a number of individuals had been complaining that they were missing small sums of money, although they were unable to voice specific suspicions.

Beineberg was the first to be able to say with certainty that — the previous week - a large sum had been stolen. But only Reiting and Törless knew about it.

They suspected the servants.

‘Go on, tell us!’ asked Törless, but Reiting gestured quickly at him.

‘Psst! Later. No one knows anything about it.’

‘A servant?’ whispered Törless.

‘No.’

‘So can you at least give us a hint who it is?’

Reiting turned away from the others and said quietly, ‘B.’ No one but Törless had understood any of this hushed conversation, but it leaped out at him like an ambush. B.? - it could only be Basini. And that couldn’t be! His mother was a wealthy lady, he was addressed as Excellency. Törless couldn’t believe it, and the thought of Božena’s story came to mind.

He could hardly wait for the moment when the others went for their meal. Beineberg and Reiting stayed behind, claiming still to be full from lunchtime.

Reiting suggested that they should ‘go upstairs’ first.

They stepped out into the corridor, which stretched endlessly outside the classroom. The flickering gas flames illuminated it only for brief stretches, and footsteps echoed from one niche to the next, however quietly one walked ...

Perhaps fifty metres away from the door a flight of steps led to the second floor, which housed the nature cabinet, other collections of educational material and a large number of empty rooms.

From that point onwards the stairs grew narrow and rose, in a series of short landings running into one another at right angles, to the attic. And - as old buildings are often constructed illogically, with an excess of corners and steps leading nowhere - they led some distance further beyond the level of the attic, so that one had to take a flight of wooden steps beyond the heavy locked iron door to get down to it.

But on this side a lost room was created, several metres high, which reached up to the roof beams.