‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘I cannot see.’
‘First there are the initials of the builder, R. K., which stand, I believe, for Rodolf Kammermann; and then, beneath the date, 1560; and on either side, still easily to be read, Mein Genügen. I thought it was a good omen for happiness.’
‘Yes, indeed. And is that the name of the place?’
‘Yes. It is called to this day Mein Genügen.’ [A]
‘I like it,’ said Sara, musingly. ‘That old baron, or whatever he was, must have had poetry in his soul.’
‘Yes; poetry which he succeeded in expressing simply and beautifully, in this old house with the lovely view,’ said Falkenberg, as they followed the others, overtaking them at the door.
From the door-steps there certainly was a very fair prospect—an uninterrupted view to the river in the vale below, and to the hills on the opposite side of it. To the left could just be seen some of the roofs of the town, showing that Mein Genügen was not utterly alone in the world, and the higher red turrets of the Dom, and the ragged top of the Heidenthurm.
‘Not the Wachtstube, fortunately,’ remarked Sara.
‘Luckily not,’ rejoined Falkenberg.
More bursts of delight from the ladies—rushes into the house, into the garden, everywhere. A courteous invitation from the host to enter, and lay aside their outdoor things and rest, until lunch should be ready. Which invitation was complied with. An entrance into the house, and more admiration, for the salon was a quaint and charming room, full of quaint, charming, and costly things.