Herr Falkenberg’s ‘summer-house’ was situated not very far up the said road; it was an old grey grange, standing on a slope at the right hand, surrounded on three sides by what had been a moat, and it was over the remains of a drawbridge that the carriage drove into the grounds. Sara lingered a moment before the grey moss-grown stone archway, trying to make out a half-defaced inscription above it. Herr Falkenberg lingered too, and said: ‘You cannot read that, Miss Ford. I own that it was one of the great attractions of the place to me when I bought it.’ ‘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. ‘He must be alone, I suppose,’ Sara decided within herself, as no lady came forward, and Herr Falkenberg continued himself to do the honours with an ease of manner and an apparent simplicity which exquisitely concealed the perfect tact he employed. He contrived—for he had that special gift so rarely found—to make each separate person there to feel him or herself to be ‘the honoured guest’ _par excellence_; and he succeeded at least in delighting two of his visitors, Frau von Trockenau and Sara Ford. The two Fräulein von Lehnberg were rather more difficult. They were annoyed that there was only Hans von Lemde to be monopolised.