Vienna, Austria. December 1912. A wintry Sunday afternoon of glittering sunlight and frosty air. Crowds mingle on the Ringstrasse, well-dressed men and women wearing fur hats and long winter coats. Cafés with art-nouveau window treatments line the boulevards. Gray stone statues of famous Austrian composers peer down from pedestals. Groups of soldiers in military greatcoats eye young women walking in pairs. A student violinist plays a virtuoso piece by Paganini, while further down the street a gypsy player garners coins with showy interpretations of Strauss. There is a hum, people talking, laughing, the sound too of the hoof beats of horse-drawn carriages and backfires from passing automobiles.

Two women are briskly walking on the Franzensring, passing the Volksgarten, striding toward the Hofburg Theater. Of different ages, they stroll arm-in-arm like a mother and daughter out for a promenade.

The older woman is fifty-one, stout, draped in a heavy unfashionably cut Russian fur jacket. Her name is Lou Andreas-Salomé, the author of ten books and over fifty articles. She is one of the most famous female intellectuals in Europe on account of her writing, her early romance with the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, and her long-term love affair with the poet Rainer Maria Rilke. She is also notorious for her role as femme fatale in a photograph taken when she was twenty-one years old in which she holds a whip while sitting in a cart pulled by a pair of men in harness, Nietzsche and his best friend at the time, Paul Rée. She has recently come to Vienna to study psychoanalysis with Dr Sigmund Freud, after which she intends to return to Göttingen, Germany, to start her own psychoanalytic practice.

Her companion, nearly thirty years younger, is a former child actress and would-be writer named Ellen Delp. She wears a stylish set of furs, has a slim figure, sharp Nordic features, and an exquisite mane of dark blonde hair. Although she and Lou are unrelated, Lou regards her companion with great affection, often introducing her to friends as 'my adopted daughter.'

Suddenly Ellen draws Lou close to whisper in her ear.

'There's that man!'

'What man?'

'The one I told you about. The one who's been following us and hanging around our hotel.'

'Oh, that one! Let's find out what he's up to.'

'You're not going to speak to him!'

Lou nods. 'I've been followed before. I don't like it. If someone has business with me, he must approach in a proper manner.'

Lou turns to eye their follower, a young man, barely into his twenties, who, realizing that the women have become aware of him, stops in his tracks and gapes back.

Lou starts toward him. Ellen tries to restrain her.

'You're not going to —'

'Oh, I am!' Lou confirms.

She gently breaks free, then strides forward with confidence, a stern expression on her face. The grand way she moves signals she's not to be trifled with. She has, her manner implies, dealt with fools like this before. Intimidation, she knows, will usually turn a stalker back. She is not afraid of this man or of anyone ... and never has been.

Approaching the young man, Lou notices a certain shabbiness about him. Though he appeared presentable at a distance, up close his suit is revealed to be threadbare and his shoes are coming apart at the seams. Still, he is decently groomed, cheeks shaven, a mustache curling slightly upwards at the corners of his mouth. His most prominent features are his eyes, which burn with an intensity