g our people
you are safe, but there are so many strange vagabonds prowling
around."

That made an impression on Effi, who had never thought of danger, and
when she was alone with Roswitha, she said: "I can't well take you
with me, Roswitha; you are too fat and no longer sure-footed."

"Oh, your Ladyship, it is hardly yet as bad as that. Why, I could
still be married."

"Of course," laughed Effi. "One is never too old for that. But let me
tell you, Roswitha, if I had a dog to accompany me--Papa's hunting dog
has no attachment for me--hunting dogs are so stupid--and he never
stirs till the hunter or the gardener takes the gun from the rack. I
often have to think of Rollo."

"True," said Roswitha, "they have nothing like Rollo here. But I don't
mean anything against 'here.' Hohen-Cremmen is very good."

Three or four days after this conversation between Effi and Roswitha,
Innstetten entered his office an hour earlier than usual. The morning
sun, which shone very brightly, had wakened him and as he had
doubtless felt he could not go to sleep again he had got out of bed to
take up a piece of work that had long been waiting to be attended to.

At a quarter past eight he rang. Johanna brought the breakfast tray,
on which, beside the morning papers, there were two letters. He
glanced at the addresses and recognized by the handwriting that one
was from the minister. But the other? The postmark could not be read
plainly and the address, "Baron von Innstetten, Esq.," showed a happy
lack of familiarity with the customary use of titles. In keeping with
this was the very primitive character of the writing. But the address
was remarkably accurate: "W., Keith St. 1c, third story."

Innstetten was enough of an official to open first the letter from
"His Excellency." "My dear Innstetten: I am happy to be able to
announce to you that His Majesty has deigned to sign your appointment
and I congratulate you sincerely." Innstetten was pleased at the
friendly lines from the minister, almost more than at the appointment
itself, for, since the morning in Kessin, when Crampas had bidden him
farewell with that look which still haunted him, he had grown somewhat
sceptical of such things as climbing higher on the ladder. Since then
he had measured with a different measure and viewed things in a
different light. Distinction--what did that amount to in the end? As
the days passed by with less and less of joy for him, he more than
once recall