“That it just slipped along close by her.”

“What?  Who?”

“The man from upstairs.  The one from the social hall or from the small chamber.”

“Nonsense, I say.  Over and over that same silly stuff.  I don’t want to hear any more about it.  And then you stayed with her Ladyship?”

“Yes, your Lordship.  I made a bed on the floor close by her.  And I had to hold her hand, and then she went to sleep.”

“And she is still sleeping?”

“Very soundly.”

“I am worried about that, Johanna.  One can sleep one’s self well, but also ill.  We must waken her, cautiously, of course, so that she will not be startled again.  And tell Frederick not to bring the breakfast.  I will wait till her Ladyship is here.  Now let me see how clever you can be.”

Half an hour later Effi came.  She looked charming, but quite pale, and was leaning on Johanna.  The moment she caught sight of Innstetten she rushed up to him and embraced and kissed him, while the tears streamed down her face.  “Oh, Geert, thank heaven, you are here.  All is well again now.  You must not go away again, you must not leave me alone again.”

“My dear Effi—­Just put it down, Frederick, I will do the rest—­my dear Effi, I am not leaving you alone from lack of consideration or from caprice, but because it is necessary.  I have no choice.  I am a man in office and cannot say to the Prince, or even to the Princess:  Your Highness, I cannot come; my wife is so alone, or, my wife is afraid.  If I said that it would put us in a rather comical light, me certainly, and you, too.  But first take a cup of coffee.”

Effi drank her coffee and its stimulating effect was plainly to be seen.  Then she took her husband’s hand again and said:  “You shall have your way.  I see, it is impossible.  And then, you know, we aspire to something higher.  I say we, for I am really more eager for it than you.”

“All wives are,” laughed Innstetten.

“So it is settled.  You will accept invitations as heretofore, and I will stay here and wait for my ‘High Lord,’ which reminds me of Hulda under the elder tree.  I wonder how she is getting along?”

“Young ladies like Hulda always get along well.  But what else were you going to say?”

“I was going to say, I will stay here, and even alone, if necessary.  But not in this house.  Let us move out.  There are such handsome houses along the quay, one between Consul Martens and Consul Gruetzmacher, and one on the Market, just opposite Gieshuebler.  Why can’t we live there?  Why here, of all places?  When we have had friends and relatives as guests in our house I have often heard that in Berlin families move out on account of piano playing, or on account of cockroaches, or on account of an unfriendly concierge.  If it is done on account of such a trifle—­”

“Trifle?  Concierge?  Don’t say that.”

“If it is possible because of such things it must also be possible here, where you are district councillor and the people are obliged to do your bidding and many even owe you a debt of gratitude.  Gieshuebler would certainly help us, even if only for my sake, for he will sympathize with me.  And now say, Geert, shall we give up this abominable house, this house with the—­”