She was talking about somebody who also came almost every Sunday. “Let me see now, what's his name? He's in your class.”

“Reiting?”

“What does he look like?”

“He's about as tall as him over there,” Bozena said with a jerk of her head in Törless's direction, “only his head is a bit too big.”

“Oh, Basini?”

“Yes, that's right, that's what he said his name was. He's really comical. And quite the fine gentleman, drinks nothing but wine.

But he's stupid. It costs him a pretty penny, and he never does anything but tell me stories. He boasts about the love-affairs he says he has at home. What does he get out of it? I can see quite plainly it's the first time in his life he's been with a woman. You're only a young lad too, but you've got a nerve. But he's clumsy and frightened of it, and that's why he spins his long-winded stories about how to treat women if you're a sensualist-yes, that's what he calls himself. He says women don't deserve anything else. How do the like of you know that so soon, I wonder?”

By way of answer Beineberg grinned at her mockingly.

“Oh all right, laugh if you like!” Bozena flung at him in amusement. “One time I asked him if he wouldn't be ashamed for his mother to know. 'Mother? Mother?' he said. 'What's that? There's no such thing now. I left that at home, before I came to see you. - -

Yes, you may well prick up your big ears, that's what you boys are like! Good little sons you are, you fine young gentlemen! It almost makes me sorry for your mothers!”

At these words Törless recalled his former notion of himself, realizing how he was leaving everything behind him and betraying the image of his parents. And now he had to admit to himself that ~n this he was not even doing something unique and terrible; it was really quite commonplace. He was ashamed. But the other thought were there again too. They do it too! They betray you! You have secret accomplices! Perhaps it is somehow different with them, but this one thing must be the same: a secret, frightful joy. Something ~n which one can drown oneself and all one's fear of the monotony of the days. - - Perhaps indeed they know more? - . - something quite extraordinary? For in the daytime they are so calm . . - Arid that laughter of his mother's? . . - as though she were going, with quiet steps, to shut all the doors -

In this conflict there came a moment when Törless abandoned himself, letting the tempest rage over his suffocating heart.

And at that very moment Bozena got up and came over to him.

“Why is our little boy not talking? Miserable, eh?”

Beineberg whispered something and smiled spitefully.

“Homesick, eh? Mamma's gone away, has she? And the moment she's gone the naughty boy comes running to the like of me'.”

Bozena dug her fingers caressingly into his hair.

“Come on, don't be silly. Give me a kiss, that's right. You fine gentry are only made of flesh and blood, after all, the same as everyone else,” and she bent his head back.

Törless wanted to say something, to pull himself together and utter some crude joke, for he felt that everything now depended on his being able to speak some indifferent word that would not betray him. But he could not utter a sound.