"Please, Johanna, put the tea on the table there."
When Johanna had left the room Effi locked her door, looked into the
mirror for a moment and then sat down again, and wrote: "I leave
tomorrow by the boat, and these are farewell lines. Innstetten expects
me back in a few days, but I am _not_ coming back--why I am not coming
back, you know--it would have been better if I had never seen this
corner of the earth. I implore you not to take this as a reproach. All
the fault is mine. If I look at your house--_your_ conduct may be
excusable, not mine. My fault is very grievous, but perhaps I can
overcome it. The fact that we were called away from here is to me, so
to speak, a sign that I may yet be restored to favor. Forget the past,
forget me. Your Effi."
She ran hastily over the lines once more. The strangest thing to her
was the avoidance of the familiar "Du," but that had to be. It was
meant to convey the idea that there was no bridge left. Then she put
the letter into an envelope and walked toward a house between the
churchyard and the corner of the forest. A thin column of smoke arose
from the half tumbled down chimney. There she delivered the letter.
When she reached home Innstetten was already there and she sat down by
him and told him about Gieshuebler and the _sal volatile_. Innstetten
laughed. "Where did you get your Latin, Effi?"
The boat, a light sailing vessel (the steamers ran only in the summer)
left at twelve. A quarter of an hour before, Effi and Innstetten were
on board; likewise Roswitha and Annie.
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