mistress,” said K. She nodded. “Then,” said K. smiling, to prevent the atmosphere from being too charged with seriousness, “you are for me a highly respectable person.” “Not only for you,” said Frieda amiably, but without returning his smile. K. had a weapon for bringing down her pride, and he tried it: “Have you ever been in the Castle?” But it missed the mark, for she answered: “No, but isn’t it enough for me to be here in the bar?” Her vanity was obviously boundless, and she was trying, it seemed, to get K. in particular to minister to it. “Of course,” said K. , “here in the bar you’re taking the landlord’s place.” “That’s so,” she assented, “and I began as a byre-maid at the inn by the bridge.” “With those delicate hands,” said K. half-questioningly, without knowing himself whether he was only flattering her or was compelled by something in her. Her hands were certainly small and delicate, but they could quite as well have been called weak and characterless. “Nobody bothered about them then,” she said, “and even now⁠ ⁠…” K. looked at her enquiringly. She shook her head and would say no more. “You have your secrets, naturally,” said K. , “and you’re not likely to give them away to somebody you’ve known for only half an hour, and who hasn’t had the chance yet to tell you anything about himself.” This remark proved to be ill-chosen, for it seemed to arouse Frieda as from a trance that was favourable to him. Out of the leather bag hanging at her girdle she took a small piece of wood, stopped up the peephole with it, and said to K. with an obvious attempt to conceal the change in her attitude: “Oh, I know all about you, you’re the Land Surveyor,” and then adding: “but now I must go back to my work,” she returned to her place behind the bar counter, while a man here and there came up to get his empty glass refilled. K. wanted to speak to her again, so he took an empty glass from a stand and went up to her, saying: “One thing more, Fräulein Frieda, it’s an extraordinary feat and a sign of great strength of mind to have worked your way up from byre-maid to this position in the bar, but can it be the end of all ambition for a person like you? An absurd idea. Your eyes⁠—don’t laugh at me, Fräulein Frieda⁠—speak to me far more of conquests