hick red tourist's
handbook, an old edition, perhaps from the days when Innstetten was a
lieutenant. "Yes, I will read in this book; there is nothing more
quieting than books like this. Only the maps should always be avoided.
But I shall guard against this source of sand in the eyes, which I
hate."

She opened the book at random at page 153. In the adjoining room she
heard the tick-tock of the clock, and out of doors Rollo, who at
nightfall had left his place in the shed, as was his custom every
evening, and had stretched himself out on the large woven mat just
outside the bedroom door. The consciousness that he was near at hand
decreased Effi's feeling that she was forsaken. In fact, it almost put
her in a cheerful mood, and so she began, without further delay, to
read. On the page lying open before her there was something about the
"Hermitage," the well country-seat of the Margrave in the neighborhood
of Beireuth. It attracted her attention. Beireuth, Richard Wagner. So
she read: "Among the pictures in the 'Hermitage' let us mention one
more, which not because of its beauty, but because of its age and the
person it represents, may well claim our interest. It is a woman's
portrait, which has grown dark with age. The head is small, the face
has harsh, rather uncanny features, and she wears a ruff which seems
to support her head. Some think it is an old margravine from the end
of the 15th century, others are of the opinion that it is the Countess
of Orlamunde. All are agreed that it is the picture of the Lady who
since that time has achieved a certain notoriety in the history of the
Hohenzollern dynasty under the name of the 'Lady in white.'"

"That was a lucky accident!" said Effi, as she shoved the book aside.
"I seek to quiet my nerves, and the first thing I run into is the
story of the 'Lady in white,' of whom I have been afraid as long as I
can remember. But inasmuch as I already have a creepy feeling I might
as well finish the story."

She opened the book again and read further: "This old portrait itself,
the original of which plays such a role in Hohenzollern history, has
likewise a significance as a picture in the special history of the
Hermitage. No doubt, one circumstance that has something to do with
this is the fact that the picture hangs on a papered door, which is
invisible to the stranger and behind which there is a stairway leading
down into the cellar. It is said that when Napoleon spent the night
he