on't know, it seems to me as though the end might come any
hour."

"Does she wish to speak to me?"

"She hasn't said so, but I believe she does. You know how she is; she
doesn't want to disturb you and make you anxious. But I think it would
be well."

"All right, Roswitha, I will come."

Before the clock began to strike Mrs. von Briest mounted the stairway
and entered Effi's room. Effi lay on a reclining chair near the open
window. Mrs. von Briest drew up a small black chair with three gilt
spindles in its ebony back, took Effi's hand and said: "How are you,
Effi! Roswitha says you are so feverish."

"Oh, Roswitha worries so much about everything. I could see by her
looks she thought I was dying. Well, I don't know. She thinks
everybody ought to be as much worried as she is."

"Are you so calm about dying, dear Effi?"

"Entirely calm, mama."

"Aren't you deceiving yourself? Everybody clings to life, especially
the young, and you are still so young, dear Effi."

Effi remained silent for a while. Then she said: "You know, I haven't
read much. Innstetten was often surprised at it, and he didn't like
it."

This was the first time she had mentioned Innstetten's name, and it
made a deep impression on her mother and showed clearly that the end
was come.

"But I thought," said Mrs. von Briest, "you were going to tell me
something."

"Yes, I was, because you spoke of my still being so young. Certainly I
am still young; but that makes no difference. During our happy days
Innstetten used to read aloud to me in the evening. He had very good
books, and in one of them there was a story about a man who had been
called away from a merry table. The following morning he asked how it
had been after he left. Somebody answered: 'Oh, there were all sorts
of things, but you really didn't miss anything.' You see, mama, these
words have impressed themselves upon my memory--It doesn't signify
very much if one is called away from the table a little early."

Mrs. von Briest remained silent. Effi lifted herself up a little
higher and said: "Now that I have talked to you about old times and
also about Innstetten, I must tell you something else, dear mama."

"You are getting excited, Effi."

"No, no, to tell about the burden of my heart will not excite me, it
will quiet me. And so I wanted to tell you that I am dying reconciled
to God and men, reconciled also to _him_."

"Did you cherish in your heart such great bitterness again