Rollo rubbed past his master and wagged his tail.

“He is not exactly satisfied; either it is with me or with others.  Well, I’ll assume, with me.  At all events let us go in.”  He entered his room and as he sat down on the sofa asked Effi to take a seat beside him.  “It was so fine in Berlin, beyond expectation, but in the midst of all my pleasure I always felt a longing to be back.  And how well you look!  A little bit pale and also a little bit changed, but it is all becoming to you.”

Effi turned red.

“And now you even turn red.  But it is as I tell you.  You used to have something of the spoiled child about you; now all of a sudden you look like a wife.”

“I like to hear that, Geert, but I think you are just saying it.”

“No, no, you can credit yourself with it, if it is something creditable.”

“I should say it is.”

“Now guess who sent you his regards.”

“That is not hard, Geert.  Besides, we wives, for I can count myself one since you are back”—­and she reached out her hand and laughed—­“we wives guess easily.  We are not so obtuse as you.”

“Well, who was it?”

“Why, Cousin von Briest, of course.  He is the only person I know in Berlin, not counting my aunts, whom you no doubt failed to look up, and who are far too envious to send me their regards.  Haven’t you found, too, that all old aunts are envious?”

“Yes, Effi, that is true.  And to hear you say it reminds me that you are my same old Effi.  For you must know that the old Effi, who looked like a child, also suited my taste.  Just exactly as does your Ladyship at present.”

“Do you think so?  And if you had to decide between the two”—­

“That is a question for scholars; I shall not talk about it.  But there comes Frederick with the tea.  How I have longed for this hour!  And I said so, too, even to your Cousin Briest, as we were sitting at Dressel’s and drinking Champagne to your health—­Your ears must have rung—­And do you know what your cousin said?”

“Something silly, certainly.  He is great at that.”

“That is the blackest ingratitude I have ever heard of in all my life.  ‘Let us drink to the health of Effi,’ he said, ’my beautiful cousin—­Do you know, Innstetten, that I should like nothing better than to challenge you and shoot you dead?  For Effi is an angel, and you robbed me of this angel.’  And he looked so serious and sad, as he said it, that one might almost have believed him.”

“Oh, I know that mood of his.  The how-manieth were you drinking?”

“I don’t recall now and perhaps could not have told you then.  But this I do believe, that he was wholly in earnest.  And perhaps it would have been the right match.  Don’t you think you could have lived with him?”

“Could have lived?  That is little, Geert.  But I might almost say, I could not even have lived with him.”

“Why not?  He is really a fine amiable fellow and quite sensible, besides.”