“Why of course?”

“Because we are in Spain.”

“So we are.”

“And this Calatrava knight, I say, had a very beautiful dog, a Newfoundland dog, although there were none as yet, for it was just a hundred years before the discovery of America.  A very beautiful dog, let us call him Rollo.”

When Rollo heard his name he barked and wagged his tail.

“It went on thus for many a day.  But the secret love, which probably did not remain entirely secret, soon became too much for the king, who cared very little for the Calatrava knight anyhow; for he was not only a cruel king, but also a jealous old wether—­or, if that word is not just suited for a king, and still less for my amiable listener, Mrs. Effi, call him at least a jealous creature.  Well, he resolved to have the Calatrava knight secretly beheaded for his secret love.”

“I can’t blame him.”

“I don’t know, most gracious Lady.  You must hear further.  In part it was all right, but it was too much.  The king, in my judgment, went altogether too far.  He pretended he was going to arrange a feast for the knight in honor of his deeds as a warrior and hero, and there was a long table and all the grandees of the realm sat at this table, and in the middle sat the king, and opposite him was the place of honor for the Calatrava knight.  But the knight failed to appear, and when they had waited a long while for him, they finally had to begin the feast without him, and his place remained vacant.  A vacant place just opposite the king!”

“And then?”

“And then, fancy, most gracious Lady, as the king, this Pedro, is about to rise in order dissemblingly to express his regret that his ‘dear guest’ has not yet appeared, the horrified servants are heard screaming on the stairway, and before anybody knows what has happened, something flies along the table, springs upon the chair, and places a severed head upon the empty plate.  Over this very head Rollo stares at the one sitting face to face with him, viz., the king.  Rollo had accompanied his master on his last journey, and the moment the ax fell the faithful animal snatched the falling head, and here he was now, our friend Rollo, at the long festal board, accusing the royal murderer.”

Effi was rapt with attention.  After a few moments she said:  “Crampas, that is in its way very beautiful, and because it is very beautiful I will forgive you.  But you might do better, and please me more, if you would tell stories of another kind, even from Heine.  Certainly Heine has not written exclusively of Vitzliputzli and Don Pedro and your Rollo.  I say your, for mine would not have done such a thing.  Come, Rollo.  Poor creature, I can’t look at you any more without thinking of the Calatrava knight, whom the queen secretly loved—­Call Kruse, please, that he may put these things back in the saddle bag, and, as we ride home, you must tell me something different, something entirely different.”