"Yes, I am. It is his Lordship's desire. But you may perhaps stay there, with my mother. Only see to it that she does not spoil little Annie too badly. She was often strict with me, but a grandchild—"
"And then, too, you know, little Annie is so sweet, one is tempted to take a bite of her. Nobody can help being fond of her."
That was on Thursday, the day before the departure. Innstetten had driven into the country and was not expected home till toward evening. In the afternoon Effi went down town, as far as the market square, and there entered the apothecary's shop and asked for a bottle of sal volatile. "One never knows with whom one is to travel," she said to the old clerk, with whom she was accustomed to chat, and who adored her as much as Gieshübler himself.
"Is the doctor in?" she asked further, when she had put the little bottle in her pocket.
"Certainly, your Ladyship, he is in the adjoining room reading the papers."
"I shall not disturb him, shall I?"
"Oh, never."
Effi stepped in. It was a small room with a high ceiling and shelves around the walls, on which stood alembics and retorts. Along one wall were filing cases arranged alphabetically and provided with iron rings on the front ends. They contained the prescriptions.
Gieshübler was delighted and embarrassed. "What an honor! Here among my retorts! May I invite her Ladyship to be seated for a moment?"
"Certainly, dear Gieshübler. But really only for a moment. I want to bid you farewell."