At the appointed hour Crampas rode up before the house.  Kruse was holding the horse for her Ladyship, who quickly lifted herself into the saddle, saying that Innstetten had been prevented from going and wished to be excused.  There had been another big fire in Morgenitz the night before, the third in three weeks, pointing to incendiarism, and he had been obliged to go there, much to his sorrow, for he had looked forward with real pleasure to this ride, thinking it would probably be the last of the season.

Crampas expressed his regret, perhaps just to say something, but perhaps with sincerity, for inconsiderate as he was in chivalrous love affairs, he was, on the other hand, equally a hale fellow well met.  To be sure, only superficially.  To help a friend and five minutes later deceive him were things that harmonized very well with his sense of honor.  He could do both with incredible bonhomie.

The ride followed the usual route through the “Plantation.”  Rollo went ahead, then came Crampas and Effi, and Kruse followed.  Crampas’s lackey was not along.

“Where did you leave Knut?”

“He has the mumps.”

“Remarkable,” laughed Effi.  “To tell the truth, he always looked as though he had something of the sort.”

“Quite right.  But you ought to see him now.  Or rather not, for you can take the mumps from merely seeing a case.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“There is a great deal that young wives don’t believe.”

“And again they believe many things they would better not believe.”

“Do you say that for my benefit?”

“No.”

“Sorry.”

“How becoming this ‘sorry’ is to you!  I really believe, Major, you would consider it entirely proper, if I were to make a declaration of love to you.”

“I will not go quite that far.  But I should like to see the fellow who would not desire such a thing.  Thoughts and wishes go free of duty.”

“There is some question about that.  Besides, there is a difference between thoughts and wishes.  Thoughts, as a rule, keep in the background, but wishes, for the most part, hover on the lips.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“Ah, Crampas, you are—­you are—­”

“A fool.”

“No.  That is another exaggeration.  But you are something else.  In Hohen-Cremmen we always said, I along with the rest, that the most conceited person in the world was a hussar ensign at eighteen.”

“And now?”

“Now I say, the most conceited person in the world is a district major of the landwehr at forty-two.”

“Incidentally, my other two years that you most graciously ignore make amends for the remark.  Kiss the hand” (—­My respects to you).

“Yes, ‘kiss the hand.’  That is just the expression that fits you.  It is Viennese.  And the Viennese—­I made their acquaintance four years ago in Carlsbad, where they courted me, a fourteen-year-old slip of a girl.  What a lot of things I had to listen to!”