“No, Johanna.  The shutters are closed tight, are they not?”

“Merely drawn to, your Ladyship.  Otherwise it would be so dark and stuffy.”

“Very well.”

Johanna withdrew, and Effi went to bed and wrapped herself up in the covers.

She left the candle burning, because she was determined not to go to sleep at once.  On the contrary, she planned to recapitulate her wedding tour, as she had her wedding-eve celebration a short time before, and let everything pass before her mind’s eye in review.  But it turned out otherwise than she had expected, for when she had reached Verona and was looking for the house of Juliet Capulet, her eyes fell shut.  The stub of candle in the little silver holder gradually burned down, flickered once or twice, and went out.

Effi had slept quite soundly for a while, when all of a sudden she started up out of her sleep with a loud scream, indeed, she was able to hear the scream, as she awoke, and she also noticed Rollo’s barking outside.  His “bow-wow” went echoing down the hall, muffled and almost terrifying.  She felt as though her heart stood still, and was unable to call out.  At this moment something whisked past her, and the door into the hall sprang open.  But the moment of extreme fright was also the moment of her rescue, for, instead of something terrible, Rollo now came up to her, sought her hand with his head, and, when he had found it, lay down upon the rug before her bed.  With her other hand Effi had pressed three times on the button of the bell and in less than half a minute Johanna was there, in her bare feet, her skirt hanging over her arm and a large checkered cloth thrown over her head and shoulders.

“Thank heaven, Johanna, that you are here.”

“What was the matter, your Ladyship?  Your Ladyship has had a dream.”

“Yes, a dream.  It must have been something of the sort, but it was something else besides.”

“Pray, what, your Ladyship?”

“I was sleeping quite soundly and suddenly I started up and screamed—­perhaps it was a nightmare—­they have nightmares in our family—­My father has them, too, and frightens us with them.  Mama always says he ought not to humor himself so—­But that is easy to say—­Well, I started up out of my sleep and screamed, and when I looked around, as well as I could in the dark, something slipped past my bed, right there where you are standing now, Johanna, and then it was gone.  And if I ask myself seriously, what it was—­”

“Well, your Ladyship?”

“And if I ask myself seriously—­I don’t like to say it, Johanna—­but I believe it was the Chinaman.”

[Illustration:  Permission F Bruckmann, A.-G.  Munich A STREET SCENE AT PARIS Adolph von Menzel]

“The one from upstairs?” said Johanna, trying to laugh, “our little Chinaman that we pasted on the back of the chair, Christel and I?  Oh, your Ladyship has been dreaming, and even if your Ladyship was awake, it all came from a dream.”