"Well, your Ladyship?"
"And if I ask myself seriously—I don't like to say it, Johanna—but I believe it was the Chinaman."
[Illustration: Permission F Bruckmann, A.-G. Munich
A STREET SCENE AT PARIS Adolph von Menzel]
"The one from upstairs?" said Johanna, trying to laugh, "our little Chinaman that we pasted on the back of the chair, Christel and I? Oh, your Ladyship has been dreaming, and even if your Ladyship was awake, it all came from a dream."
"I should believe that, if it had not been exactly the moment when Rollo began to bark outside. So he must have seen it too. Then the door flew open and the good faithful animal sprang toward me, as though he were coming to my rescue. Oh, my dear Johanna, it was terrible. And I so alone and so young. Oh, if I only had some one here with whom I could weep. But so far from home—alas, from home."
"The master may come any hour."
"No, he shall not come. He shall not see me thus. He would probably laugh at me and I could never pardon him for that. For it was so fearful, Johanna—You must stay here now—But let Christel sleep and Frederick too. Nobody must know about it."
"Or perhaps I may fetch Mrs. Kruse to join us. She doesn't sleep anyhow; she sits there all night long."
"No, no, she is a kindred spirit. That black chicken has something to do with it, too. She must not come. No, Johanna, you just stay here yourself. And how fortunate that you merely drew the shutters to. Push them open, make a loud noise, so that I may hear a human sound, a human sound—I have to call it that, even if it seems queer—and then open the window a little bit, that I may have air and light."
Johanna did as ordered and Effi leaned back upon her pillows and soon thereafter fell into a lethargic sleep.