mole afforded by a narrow cut through the dunes.

The half-wintery November sun shed its fallow light upon the still
agitated sea and the high-running surf. Now and then a puff of wind
came and carried the spray clear up to the table. There was lyme grass
all around, and the bright yellow of the immortelles stood out sharply
against the yellow sand they were growing in, despite the kinship of
colors. Effi played the hostess. "I am sorry, Major, to have to pass
you the rolls in a basket lid."

"I don't mind the platter, so long as it holds a favor."

"But this is Kruse's arrangement--Why, there you are too, Rollo. But
our lunch does not take you into account. What shall we do with
Rollo?"

"I say, give him everything--I for my part out of gratitude. For, you
see, dearest Effi--"

Effi looked at him.

"For, you see, most gracious Lady, Rollo reminds me of what I was
about to tell you as a continuation or counterpart of the Vitzliputzli
story, only much more racy, because a love story. Have you ever heard
of a certain Pedro the Cruel?"

"I have a faint recollection."

"A kind of Bluebeard king."

"That is fine. That is the kind girls like best to hear about, and I
still remember we always said of my friend Hulda Niemeyer, whose name
you have heard, I believe, that she knew no history, except the six
wives of Henry the Eighth, that English Bluebeard, if the word is
strong enough for him. And, really, she knew these six by heart. You
ought to have heard her when she pronounced the names, especially that
of the mother of queen Elizabeth,--so terribly embarrassed, as though
it were her turn next--But now, please, the story of Don Pedro."

"Very well. At Don Pedro's court there was a handsome black Spanish
knight, who wore on his breast the cross of Calatrava, which is about
the equivalent of the Black Eagle and the _Pour le Merite_ together.
This cross was essential, they always had to wear it, and this
Calatrava knight, whom the queen secretly loved, of course--"

"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, soo