In the sudden silence which ensued K. heard steps in the vestibule. With some idea of securing his position he dodged behind the bar counter, which afforded the only possible cover in the room. He had an admitted right to be in the bar, but since he meant to spend the night there he had to avoid being seen. So when the door was actually opened he slid under the counter. To be discovered there of course would have its dangers too, yet he could explain plausibly enough that he had only taken refuge from the wild license of the peasants. It was the landlord who came in. “Frieda!” he called, and walked up and down the room several times.
Fortunately Frieda soon came back; she did not mention K., she only complained about the peasants, and in the course of looking round for K. went behind the counter, so that he was able to touch her foot. From that moment he felt safe. Since Frieda made no reference to K., however, the landlord was compelled to do it. “And where is the Land Surveyor?” he asked. He was probably courteous by nature, refined by constant and relatively free intercourse with men who were much his superior, but there was remarkable consideration in his tone to Frieda, which was all the more striking because in his conversation he did not cease to be an employer addressing a servant, and a saucy servant at that. “The Land Surveyor—I forgot all about him,” said Frieda, setting her small foot on K.’s chest. “He must have gone out long ago.” “But I haven’t seen him,” said the landlord, “and I was in the hall nearly the whole time.” “Well, he isn’t in here,” said Frieda coolly. “Perhaps he’s hidden somewhere,” went on the landlord. “From the impression I had of him he’s capable of a good deal.” “He would hardly have the cheek to do that,” said Frieda, pressing her foot down on K. There was a certain mirth and freedom about her which K. had not previously remarked, and quite unexpectedly it took the upper hand, for suddenly laughing she bent down to K. with the words: “Perhaps he’s hidden underneath here,” kissed him lightly and sprang up again saying with a troubled air: “No, he’s not there.” Then the landlord too surprised K. when he said: “It bothers me not to know for certain that he’s gone. Not only because of Herr Klamm, but because of the rule of the house. And the rule applies to you, Fräulein Frieda, just as much as to me. Well, if you answer for the bar, I’ll go through the rest of the rooms. Good night! Sleep well!” He could hardly have left the room before Frieda had turned out the electric light and was under the counter beside K. “My darling! My darling!” she whispered, but she did not touch him. As if swooning with love she lay on her back and stretched out her arms; time must have seemed endless to her in the prospect of her happiness, and she sighed rather than sang some little song or other. Then as K. still lay absorbed in thought, she started up and began to tug at him like a child: “Come on, it’s too close down here,” and they embraced each other, her little body burned in K.’s hands, in a state of unconsciousness which K. tried again and again but in vain to master they rolled a little way, landing with a thud on Klamm’s door, where they lay among the small puddles of beer and other refuse gathered on the floor. There hours went past, hours in
