Annie had flourished splendidly in the country air and Roswitha’s plan of having her walk to meet her mother succeeded perfectly.  Briest proved himself an affectionate grandfather, warned them against too much love, and even more strongly against too much severity, and was in every way the same as always.  But in reality all his affection was bestowed upon Effi, who occupied his emotional nature continually, particularly when he was alone with his wife.

“How do you find Effi?”

“Dear and good as ever.  We cannot thank God enough that we have such a lovely daughter.  How thankful she is for everything, and always so happy to be under our rooftree again.”

“Yes,” said Briest, “she has more of this virtue than I like.  To tell the truth, it seems as though this were still her home.  Yet she has her husband and child, and her husband is a jewel and her child an angel, and still she acts as though Hohen-Cremmen were her favorite abode, and her husband and child were nothing in comparison with you and me.  She is a splendid daughter, but she is too much of a daughter to suit me.  It worries me a little bit.  She is also unjust to Innstetten.  How do matters really stand between them?”

“Why, Briest, what do you mean?”

“Well, I mean what I mean and you know what, too.  Is she happy?  Or is there something or other in the way?  From the very beginning it has seemed to me as though she esteemed him more than she loved him, and that to my mind is a bad thing.  Even love may not last forever, and esteem will certainly not.  In fact women become angry when they have to esteem a man; first they become angry, then bored, and in the end they laugh.”

“Have you had any such experience?”

“I will not say that I have.  I did not stand high enough in esteem.  But let us not get wrought up any further.  Tell me how matters stand.”

“Pshaw!  Briest, you always come back to the same things.  We have talked about and exchanged our views on this question more than a dozen times, and yet you always come back and, in spite of your pretended omniscience, ask me about it with the most dreadful naivete, as though my eyes could penetrate any depth.  What kind of notions have you, anyhow, of a young wife, and more especially of your daughter?  Do you think that the whole situation is so plain?  Or that I am an oracle—­I can’t just recall the name of the person—­or that I hold the truth cut and dried in my hands, when Effi has poured out her heart to me?—­at least what is so designated.  For what does pouring out one’s heart mean?  After all, the real thing is kept back.  She will take care not to initiate me into her secrets.  Besides, I don’t know from whom she inherited it, but she is—­well, she is a very sly little person and this slyness in her is the more dangerous because she is so very lovable.”

“So you do admit that—­lovable.  And good, too?”

“Good, too.  That is, full of goodness of heart.  I am not quite certain about anything further.  I believe she has an inclination to let matters take their course and to console herself with the hope that God will not call her to a very strict account.”