Weeks after the crossbow theft, in early March 1995, grandparents fund a ski trip for Stéphane Breitwieser and Anne‑Catherine. En route, they stop at Switzerland’s Gruyères Castle, using their usual “we’re only looking” mindset as a calming tactic. The narrative outlines their loose planning: he hoards brochures, builds a mental list, and strikes only when conditions feel safe, armed mainly with a Victorinox Swiss Army knife.

Inside a turret, Breitwieser is transfixed by a small Christian Wilhelm Ernst Dietrich portrait of an elderly woman on wood panel. The intensity of his reaction—texture felt, intimacy perceived—matches his self-described coup de coeur.

The chapter then explores Stendhal syndrome: Stendhal’s swoon in Santa Croce; psychiatrist Graziella Magherini’s documented cases; and widespread skepticism outside Florence. Breitwieser claims this explains his compulsion, while detractors call him a thief chasing thrills. A 2002 assessment by Swiss psychotherapist Michel Schmidt deems him dangerous and self-deluded but not a kleptomaniac, emphasizing his selectivity and elation at results.

Returning to the turret, with no cameras or guards present, Anne‑Catherine signals consent. Breitwieser removes the painting, pries out the nails with a car key, hides the frame, and pockets the label, leaving a clean patch on the wall. They walk out through the village with the panel under his jacket—their third theft and first painting—cushion it in a suitcase, admire it on the roadside, and then continue to the ski slopes.