There was a single lamp there, with broken, dusty glass. Now and then the gleam of the light, which was blown uneasily hither and thither by the gusts of wind, would fall on a rippling wave below and dissolve on its crept. The rounded foot-planks of the bridge yielded under every step . . . revolving forward, then back again. .

Beineberg stopped. The farther bank was thickly wooded, and along the road, which turned at a right-angle on the other side and continued along the river, the trees had the menacing look of a black, impenetrable wall. Only if one looked carefully did one discover a narrow, hidden path leading straight on and into it. As they went on their way through the thick, rank undergrowth, which brushed against their clothes, they were continually showered with drops. After a while they had to stop again and strike a match. It was very quiet now; even the gurgling of the river could not be heard. Suddenly from the distance there came a vague, broken sound. It was like a cry or a warning. Or perhaps it was merely like a call from some inarticulate creature that, somewhere ahead, was breaking its way through the bushes, like themselves. They walked on towards this sound, stopped again, and again walked on. All in all it was perhaps a quarter of an hour before, with a long breath of relief, they recognized loud voices and the notes of a concertina.

Now the trees grew more sparsely, and a few paces further they found themselves standing on the edge of a clearing, in the midst of which there was a squat, square building, two storeys high.

It was the old pump-room. In former times it had been used by the people of the little town and peasants from the neighbouring countryside for taking the waters; but for years now it had been almost empty. Only the ground floor was still used, as a tavern, and one that was of ill repute.

The two boys stopped for a moment, listening.

Törless was just taking a step forward, about to issue forth from the thicket, when there was a sound of heavy boots tramping on the floor-boards inside the house and a drunken man came staggering out of the door. Behind him, in the shadow of the doorway, stood a woman, and they could hear her whispering hurriedly and angrily, as though demanding something from the man. He merely laughed, swaying on his feet. Then it seemed that the woman was pleading, but again the words were indistinguishable; all that could be made out was the coaxing, cajoling tone of the voice. Now she advanced further and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. The moon shone upon her, lighting up her petticoat, her jacket, her pleading smile. The man stared straight ahead of him, shook his head, and kept his hands firmly in his pockets. Then he spat and pushed the woman away, perhaps because of something she had said. Now their voices were raised and what they said could be understood.

“-so you won't pay up, eh? You-!”

“You just take yourself off upstairs, you dirty slut!”

“The cheek! You peasant clod, you!”

By way of answer the drunken man bent down, with a clumsy movement, and picked up a stone. “If you don't clear off, you silly bitch, I'll knock your block off!”, and he raised his arm, preparing to throw the stone at her. Törless heard the woman running up the steps with a last cry of abuse.

The man stood still for a moment, irresolutely holding the stone in his hand. He laughed, glanced up at the sky, where the moon floated, wine-yellow, among black clouds, and then stared at the dark mass of the thicket, as though he were wondering whether to go that way.