K. sat down on a window-seat where he determined to pass the night without accepting any other favour. The other people in the village, who turned him away or were afraid of him, seemed much less dangerous, for all that they did was to throw him back on his own resources, helping him to concentrate his powers, but such ostensible helpers as these who on the strength of a petty masquerade brought him into their homes instead of into the Castle, deflected him, whether intentionally or not, from his goal and only helped to destroy him. An invitation to join the family at table he ignored completely, stubbornly sitting with bent head on his bench.
Then Olga, the gentler of the sisters, got up, not without a trace of maidenly embarrassment, came over to K. and asked him to join the family meal of bread and bacon, saying that she was going to fetch some beer. “Where from?” asked K. “From the inn,” she said. That was welcome news to K. He begged her instead of fetching beer to accompany him back to the inn, where he had important work waiting to be done. But the fact now emerged that she was not going so far as his inn, she was going to one much nearer, called the Herrenhof. None the less K. begged to be allowed to accompany her, thinking that there perhaps he might find a lodging for the night; however wretched it might be he would prefer it to the best bed these people could offer him. Olga did not reply at once, but glanced towards the table. Her brother stood up, nodded obligingly, and said: “If the gentleman wishes.” This assent was almost enough to make K. withdraw his request, nothing could be of much value if Barnabas assented to it. But since they were already wondering whether K. would be admitted into that inn and doubting its possibility, he insisted emphatically upon going, without taking the trouble to give a colourable excuse for his eagerness; this family would have to accept him as he was, he had no feeling of shame where they were concerned. Yet he was somewhat disturbed by Amalia’s direct and serious gaze, which was unflinching and perhaps a little stupid.
On their short walk to the inn—K. had taken Olga’s arm and was leaning his whole weight on her as earlier on Barnabas, he could not get along otherwise—he learned that it was an inn exclusively reserved for gentlemen from the Castle, who took their meals there and sometimes slept there whenever they had business in the village. Olga spoke to K. in a low and confidential tone, to walk with her was pleasant, almost as pleasant as walking with her brother. K. struggled against the feeling of comfort she gave him, but it persisted.
From outside, the new inn looked very like the inn where K. was staying. All the houses in the village resembled one another more or less, but still a few small differences were immediately apparent here; the front steps had a balustrade, and a fine lantern was fixed over the doorway. Something fluttered over their heads as they entered, it was a flag with the Count’s colours. In the hall they were at once met by the landlord, who was obviously on a tour of inspection; he glanced at K. in passing with small eyes that were either screwed up critically or half-asleep, and said: “The Land Surveyor mustn’t go anywhere but into the bar.” “Certainly,” said Olga, who took K.’s part at once, “he’s only escorting me.” But K. ungratefully let go her arm and drew the landlord aside. Olga meanwhile waited patiently at the end of the hall. “I should like to spend the night here,” said K. “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” said the landlord. “You don’t seem to be aware that this house is reserved exclusively for gentlemen from the Castle.” “Well, that may be the rule,” said K., “but it’s surely possible to let me sleep in a corner somewhere:” “I should be only too glad to oblige you,” said the landlord, “but besides the strictness with which the rule is enforced—and you speak about it as only a stranger could—it’s quite out of the question for another reason; the Castle gentlemen are so sensitive that I’m convinced they couldn’t bear the sight of a stranger, at least unless they were prepared for it; and if I were to let you sleep here, and by some chance or other—and chances are always on the side of the gentlemen—you were discovered, not only would it mean my ruin but yours too. That sounds ridiculous, but it’s true.” This tall and closely-buttoned man who stood with his legs crossed, one hand braced against the wall and the other on his hip, bending down a little towards K. and speaking confidentially to him, seemed to have hardly anything in common with the village, even although his dark clothes looked like a peasant’s finery. “I believe you absolutely,” said K., “and I didn’t mean to belittle the rule, although I expressed myself badly. Only there’s something I’d like to point out, I have some influence in the Castle, and shall have still more, and that secures you against any danger arising out of my stay here overnight, and is a guarantee that I am able fully to
