‘What’s that?’ K. asked back, somewhat startled, and he echoed the question in a milder form: ‘Do I like the castle? Why should you assume I don’t?’ ‘Visitors never like it,’ said the schoolmaster. To avoid saying anything unwelcome at this point, K. changed the subject and asked: ‘You know the count, presumably?’ ‘No,’ the schoolmaster said and was about to turn away, but K. did not give up and asked again: ‘What? You don’t know the count?’ ‘How should I know him?’ the schoolmaster said under his breath, adding aloud, in French: ‘Remember there are innocent children present.’ K. used this as an excuse to ask the schoolmaster: ‘Could I come and see you some time, sir? I’m here for a while and am already feeling a bit lonely, I’m not one of the peasants and hardly belong in the castle either.’ ‘There’s no difference,’ the schoolmaster said, ‘between peasants and castle.’ ‘Maybe,’ said K., ‘that doesn’t alter my situation. Might I come and see you some time?’ ‘I live in Swan Lane, at the butcher’s.’ This was more a statement than an invitation, but K. still said: ‘Fine, I’ll be there.’ The schoolmaster nodded and moved on with the mass of children, who immediately resumed their shouting. They soon disappeared down a lane that dropped away sharply.

But K. was distracted, the exchange had irritated him. For the first time since his arrival he felt real weariness. The long journey to this place seemed to have left him quite unaffected at first – how he had tramped through the days, stride by smooth stride! – now, however, the effects of that huge effort were making themselves felt, it was a bad time for it, of course. He was irresistibly drawn towards seeking out fresh acquaintanceships, yet each fresh acquaintanceship increased his weariness. In his present state, if he pushed himself to extend his walk as far as the castle entrance at least, that would be more than enough.

On he went, then, but it was a long way. This road, the village high street, did not in fact lead to Castle Hill, it only went close to it but then curved away, as if on purpose, and although it took one no farther from the castle, nor did it come any nearer. K. constantly expected the road to turn in the direction of the castle at last, surely it would, and it was only because he expected it that he kept going; obviously, given his weariness, he was reluctant to leave the road, he was also surprised at how long the village was, it went on and on, nothing but tiny houses and iced-up windowpanes and snow and nobody around – finally he tore himself loose from the grip of the high street, a narrow lane swallowed him up, even deeper snow, his feet sank in, it was hard work extracting them, he began to perspire, abruptly he came to a halt and could go no farther.

He was not alone, though, humble cottages stood on either side, he made a snowball and hurled it at a window. The door opened immediately – the first to have done so the whole way through the village – and there, wearing a brown fur jacket, his head cocked on one side, friendly and frail, stood an aged peasant. ‘May I come in for a minute?’ said K. ‘I’m very tired.’ Not even hearing what the old man said, he gratefully accepted a board being pushed towards him, this promptly retrieved him from the snow and with a couple of steps he was inside.

A large room, dimly lit. Coming in from the lane, one saw nothing at first. K. stumbled against a washing-trough, a woman’s hand restrained him. Much shouting of children came from one corner. From another corner steam billowed, turning the half-light into darkness, K. was standing in clouds, as it were. ‘He’s drunk,’ someone said. ‘Who are you?’ a peremptory voice called, presumably then turning to the old man: ‘Why did you let him in? Are we to let in everyone prowling the streets?’ ‘I am the count’s land surveyor,’ said K., seeking to justify himself to the still invisible questioner. ‘Oh, it’s the land surveyor,’ said a female voice, then there was complete silence. ‘Do you know me?’ K.