Of course a man should always do what his demon drives him to.” And with that the cat was out of the bag; now he knew; Bertrand had quitted the service simply to go into business, from mere greed, mere avarice. But, thick-skinned as these profiteers always were, Bertrand did not feel his contempt and went on without embarrassment: “Look here, Pasenow! It’s more and more incomprehensible to me how you can stick it out here. Why don’t you at least report for colonial service, seeing that the country has provided that amusement for you?” Pasenow and his comrades had never bothered themselves about the colonial problem: that was the preserve of the navy; all the same he felt indignant: “Amusement?” Bertrand had once more that ironical curl to his lips: “Well, what else is there in it? A little private amusement and glory for the soldiers immediately concerned. All honour, of course, to Dr Peters, and if he had appeared earlier I should certainly have been with him, but what other elements are there except pure romanticism? It’s romantic from every point of view—except for the activities of the Catholic and Protestant missions, of course, who are doing sober and useful work. But as for the rest—a joke, nothing but a joke.” He spoke so disdainfully that Pasenow was honestly indignant, but what he said sounded merely as if he were offended: “Why should we Germans fall behind the other countries?” “I’ll tell you something, Pasenow: first, England is England; second, even in England every day isn’t a holiday; third, I shall always invest my spare capital in English colonies rather than in German; so, you see, even from a business point of view it’s romantic for us to have colonies; and fourthly, as I said before, it’s only the Church that ever has a real palpable interest in colonial expansion.” Joachim von Pasenow’s mortified admiration grew, and along with it the suspicion that this Bertrand fellow was trying to blind him and dupe him and lead him into a trap by his enigmatic and conceited generalizations. In some way all this went with Bertrand’s hair, which was quite unmilitary, indeed almost curly. It was theatrical in some way. The words, “the pit,” “the bottomless pit,” came into Joachim’s mind: why did this man keep on talking of religion and the Church? But before he could gather himself together to reply Bertrand had already noticed his astonishment: “Yes, you see, Europe has already become a pretty dubious field for the Church. But Africa, on the other hand! Hundreds of millions of souls as raw material for the Faith. And you can rest assured that a baptized negro is a better Christian than twenty Europeans. If the Catholics and the Protestants want to steal a march on each other for the winning of these fanatics it’s very understandable; for there’s where the future of their religion lies; there will be found the future warriors of the faith who will march out one day, burning and slaying in Christ’s name, against a heathen Europe sunk in corruption, to set at last, amid the smoking ruins of Rome, a black Pope on the throne of Peter.” That’s like Revelation, thought Pasenow; he’s blaspheming now. And what did the souls of negroes matter to him? Slave-dealing had surely been abolished, although a man obsessed by greed for filthy lucre might even be capable of that. And Bertrand had just been talking of his demon. But perhaps he had only been joking; even in the cadet school one had never known when Bertrand was serious. “You’re joking! And as for the Spahis and Turcos, we’ve settled with them for good.” Bertrand could not but smile, and he smiled so winningly and frankly that Joachim too could not keep himself from smiling. So they smiled frankly at each other and their souls nodded to each other through the windows of their eyes, just for an instant, like two neighbours who have never greeted each other and now happen to lean out of their windows at the same moment, pleased and embarrassed by this unforeseen and simultaneous greeting. Convention rescued them out of their embarrassment, and lifting his glass Bertrand said: “Prosit, Pasenow!” and Pasenow replied: “Prosit, Bertrand!” whereupon they had both to smile again.

When they left the restaurant and were standing in Unter den Linden under the somewhat parched, motionless trees in the hot light of the afternoon sun, Pasenow remembered the reply which he had been too shy to utter when they were having lunch: “I really can’t understand what quarrel you have with the faith of us Europeans. It seems to me that you people who live in cities don’t have the proper understanding for that. When one has grown up in the country, like myself, one has quite a different attitude to these things. And our peasants out there are far more closely bound to religion than you seem to think.” In saying this to Bertrand’s face he felt somehow daring, like a subaltern trying to explain what strategy was to a Staff officer, and he was a little afraid lest Bertrand should take it badly. But Bertrand only replied cheerfully: “Well, then, probably everything will turn out splendidly after all.” And then they exchanged addresses and promised that they would remain in touch with each other.

Pasenow took a droshky and drove out to the west end to the races. The Rhine wine, the afternoon heat, and perhaps also the strangeness of his encounter, had left behind his forehead and at the back of his temples—he would have dearly liked to take off his stiff cap—a dark, flawed feeling, reminding him of the leather seat he was sitting on, which he was prodding with his gloved finger-tips; it was actually a little sticky, so hotly did the sun burn upon it. He was sorry he had not invited Bertrand to go with him, but he was glad at least that his father was no longer in Berlin, for he would certainly have been sitting there beside him. Yet on the other hand he was sincerely glad not to have Bertrand accompanying him in his civilian clothes. But perhaps Bertrand wanted to give him a surprise and had called for Ruzena now, and they would all meet at the races again. Like a family. But of course that was all nonsense. Not even Bertrand would show himself at the races with a girl like that.

When a few days later Leindorff, one of Joachim’s fellow-officers, received a visit from his father, to Pasenow it was like a sign from heaven bidding him go to the Jäger Casino and be there before old Leindorff, whom he already saw mounting the narrow stairs with an undeviating, bustling air. He drove to his flat in the regimental carriage and put on his civilian clothes. Then he set out.