At this point Wilke came in from the dining hall and reported that he had counted everything and found everything there, except that one of the fine wine glasses was broken, but that had occurred yesterday when the toast was drunk.  Miss Hulda had clinked her glass too hard against Lieutenant Nienkerk’s.

“Of course, half asleep and always has been, and lying under the elder tree has obviously not improved matters.  A silly person, and I don’t understand Nienkerk.”

“I understand him perfectly.”

“But he can’t marry her.”

“No.”

“His purpose, then?”

“A wide field, Luise.”

This was the day after the wedding.  Three days later came a scribbled little card from Munich, with all the names on it indicated by two letters only.  “Dear mama:  This morning we visited the Pinakothek.  Geert wanted to go over to the other museum, too, the name of which I will not mention here, because I am in doubt about the right way to spell it, and I dislike to ask him.  I must say, he is angelic to me and explains everything.  Generally speaking, everything is very beautiful, but it’s a strain.  In Italy it will probably slacken somewhat and get better.  We are lodging at the ‘Four Seasons,’ which fact gave Geert occasion to remark to me, that ’outside it was autumn, but in me he was having spring.’  I consider that a very graceful compliment.  He is really very attentive.  To be sure, I have to be attentive, too, especially when he says something or is giving me an explanation.  Besides, he knows everything so well that he doesn’t even need to consult a guide book.  He delights to talk of you two, especially mama.  He considers Hulda somewhat affected, but old Mr. Niemeyer has completely captivated him.  A thousand greetings from your thoroughly entranced, but somewhat weary Effi.”

Similar cards now arrived daily, from Innsbruck, from Vicenza, from Padua.  Every one began:  “We visited the famous gallery here this morning,” or, if it was not the gallery, it was an arena or some church of “St. Mary” with a surname.  From Padua came, along with the card, a real letter.  “Yesterday we were in Vicenza.  One must see Vicenza on account of Palladio.  Geert told me that everything modern had its roots in him.  Of course, with reference only to architecture.  Here in Padua, where we arrived this morning, he said to himself several times in the hotel omnibus, ‘He lies in Padua interred,’ and was surprised when he discovered that I had never heard these words.  But finally he said it was really very well and in my favor that I knew nothing about them.  He is very just, I must say.  And above all he is angelic to me and not a bit overbearing and not at all old, either.  I still have pains in my feet, and the consulting of guide books and standing so long before pictures wears me out.  But it can’t be helped, you know.  I am looking forward to Venice with much pleasure.  We shall stay there five days,