Each single bite had to be fed to it with the greatest care, and I regretted that the food which I had to swallow for appearances’ sake was going to disturb the drunkenness which was quietly making itself felt.

It never occurred to me that it might be a good thing to exchange a few words with Magda. Instead, my mind was busy with another problem, which presented grave difficulties. The wine-bottle was in the sideboard all right, but with the scrupulous way in which Magda ran her household, she was bound to notice within a short time that it was empty. I couldn’t possibly allow that to happen. I must take precautions in time. But how incredibly difficult it was! The best solution would be to buy another bottle of red wine this very afternoon, pour about half of it away, and put it in place of the empty one. But when was I to do it, how could I get to the sideboard when I had to be at the office all the afternoon, and Magda and I always spent the evening together, she with some needlework and I with my newspaper? When? and what was I to do with the empty bottle? Would I be able to buy some wine of the same brand? Did Magda remember what sort it was, what kind of label it had? Best would be to get up secretly at midnight, carefully take the label off the old bottle and stick it on the new one. But supposing Magda were to surprise me at it! And moreover, had we any glue in the house? I would have to smuggle some from the office in my brief-case. The more I thought about it, the more complicated the whole affair became. Already it was absolutely insoluble. It had been easy enough to empty the bottle, but I should have thought before, how difficult it was going to be to restore it to its former condition. Supposing I just broke the bottle, and pretended that I had knocked it over while looking for something? But there was no wine left to spill. Or dare I simply half-fill it with water, and put off filling it with wine until some later time?

My head was more and more muddled. While I cast around in my mind, I had quite forgotten not only the meal but Magda as well. So I started, when she asked me with genuine apprehension in her voice: “What’s the matter, Erwin? Are you ill? Have you got a temperature? You look so red.”

I eagerly seized on this pretext, and said calmly: “Yes, I really don’t feel quite well. I think I’d better lie down for a moment. My … my head’s throbbing.”

“Yes, do, Erwin. Go to bed immediately. Shall I ring Dr Mansfeld?”

“Oh, nonsense,” I cried angrily, “I’ll just lie down on the sofa for a quarter of an hour, and I’ll be all right. Then I must get back to the office.”

She led me to the sofa like an invalid, helped me to lie down and spread a rug over me. “Have you had trouble at the office?” she asked anxiously. “Tell me what’s worrying you, Erwin. You’re quite changed.”

“Nothing, nothing,” I said, suddenly angry. “I don’t know what’s the matter with you. A little attack of giddiness or blood pressure and immediately there’s something wrong at the office. Business is fine, just fine!”

She sighed softly. “All right, then, sleep well, Erwin,” she said. “Shall I wake you?”

“No, no, not necessary. I’ll wake up of my own accord—in a quarter of an hour or so.…”

Then I was alone at last: I let my head fall back, and now the alcohol flooded right through me in an unrestrained free-running wave. With a velvet wing it covered all my sorrows and afflictions, it washed away even the little new worry over my unnecessary lie about business being fine.