For this
reason Innstetten had telegraphed from Stettin to his coachman Kruse:
"Five o'clock, Klein-Tantow station. Open carriage, if good weather."
It certainly was good weather, and there sat Kruse in the open
carriage at the station. He greeted the newly arrived couple with all
the prescribed dignity of a first-class coachman.
"Well, Kruse, everything in order?"
"At your service, Sir Councillor."
"Then, Effi, please get in." As Effi was doing as bid, and one of the
station porters was finding a place for a small satchel by the
coachman, in front, Innstetten left orders to send the rest of the
luggage by the omnibus. Then he, too, took his seat and after
condescendingly asking one of the bystanders for a light called to
Kruse: "Drive on, Kruse." The carriage rolled quickly over the rails
of the many tracks at the crossing, then slantingly down the slope of
the embankment, and on the turnpike past an inn called "The Prince
Bismarck." At this point the road forked, one branch leading to the
right to Kessin, the other to the left to Varzin. In front of the inn
stood a moderately tall, broad-shouldered man in a fur coat and a fur
cap. The cap he took off with great deference as the District
Councillor drove by. "Pray, who was that?" said Effi, who was
extremely interested in all she saw and consequently in the best of
humor. "He looked like a starost, though I am forced to confess I
never saw a starost before."
"Which is no loss, Effi.
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