his proportions, had walked
past on the other side of the street and had glanced over at her
window. But that could hardly have been Gieshuebler. No, this
stoop-shouldered man, who had such a distinguished air about him, must
have been the presiding judge, and she recalled then that she had once
seen such a person at a reception given by Aunt Therese, but it
suddenly occurred to her that Kessin had only a lower court judge.

While she was still following out this chain of thought the object of
her reflections, who had apparently been taking a morning stroll, or
perhaps a promenade around the "Plantation" to bolster up his courage,
came in sight again, and a minute later Frederick entered to announce
Apothecary Gieshuebler.

"Ask him kindly to come in."

The poor young wife's heart fluttered, for it was the first time that
she had to appear as a housewife, to say nothing of the first woman of
the city.

Frederick helped Gieshuebler take off his fur coat and then opened the
door.

Effi extended her hand to the timidly entering caller, who kissed it
with a certain amount of fervor. The young wife seemed to have made a
great impression upon him immediately.

"My husband has already told me--But I am receiving you here in my
husband's room,--he is over at the office and may be back any moment.
May I ask you to step into my room?"

Gieshuebler followed Effi, who led the way into the adjoining room,
where she pointed to one of the arm chairs, as she herself sat down on
the sofa. "I wish I could tell you what a great pleasure it was
yesterday to receive the beautiful flowers with your card. I
straightway ceased to feel myself a stranger here and when I mentioned
the fact to Innstetten he told me we should unquestionably be good
friends."

"Did he say that? The good councillor. In the councillor and you, most
gracious Lady,--I beg your permission to say it--two dear people have
been united. For what kind of a man your husband is, I know, and what
kind of a woman you are, most gracious Lady, I see."

"Provided only you do not look at me with too friendly eyes. I am so
very young. And youth--"

"Ah, most gracious Lady, say nothing against youth. Youth, even with
all its mistakes, is still beautiful and lovable, and age, even with
its virtues, is not good for much. Personally I have, it is true, no
right to say anything about this subject. About age I might have,
perhaps, but not about youth, for, to be frank, I was