His grief has lifted for a moment. The portrait of the recently deceased spouse and the cloth which has just been used to dry his bitter tears have sunk on to the widower's knees. Under the watchful eyes of Diana, the tutelary goddess of women, two ladies stroll past and arouse his interest. One of them glances fleetingly at the bench where the widower, exposed to the light, has assumed the role of a poor wretch. Spitzweg's bourgeois idyll is permeated with satire. The scene is not designed to arouse pity, but rather to elicit a chuckle over the hopes of a man who is already past his prime.