As I came along the road, the dust of which had been laid that afternoon by an odorous summer rain, the principal thing which struck my eyes was the quaintness and unquestioned age of the old inn. It was a relic of the days when feudal lords still warred with one another, and the united kingdom was undreamt of. It looked to be 300 years old, and might have been more. From time to time it had undergone various repairs, as shown by the new stone and signs of modern masonry, the slate peeping out among the moss-covered tiles. It sat back from the highway, and was surrounded by thick rows of untrimmed hedges, and was partly concealed from view by oaks and chestnuts. The gardens were full of roses all in bloom, and their perfumes hung heavy on the moist air. And within a stone's throw of the rear the Danube noiselessly slid along its green banks. All I knew about the inn was that it had been by a whim of nature the birthplace of that beautiful, erratic and irresponsible young person, her Serene Highness the Princess Hildegarde. It was here I thought to find Hillars; though it was idle curiosity as much as anything which led me to the place.
The village was five miles below. I could see the turrets of the castle which belonged to the Princess. She was very wealthy, and owned as many as three strongholds in the petty principality of Hohenphalia. Capricious indeed must have been the woman who was ready to relinquish them for freedom.
The innkeeper was a pleasant, ruddy-cheeked old man, who had seen service. He greeted me with some surprise; tourists, he said, seldom made this forgotten, out-of-the-way village an objective point. I received a room which commanded a fine view of the river and a stretch of the broad highway. I was the only guest. This very loneliness pleased me. My travel-stained suit I exchanged for knickerbockers and a belted jacket. I went down to supper; it was a simple affair, and I was made to feel at home. From the dining-room I caught a momentary flash of white skirts in the barroom.
"Ah," I thought; "a barmaid. If she is pretty it will be a diversion."
In the course of my wanderings I had seen few barmaids worth looking at twice.
When the table was cleared I lit a cigar and strolled into the gardens. The evening air was delicious with the smell of flowers, still wet with rain. The spirit of the breeze softly whispered among the branches above me. Far up in the darkening blues a hawk circled. The west was a thread of yellow flame; the moon rose over the hills in the east; Diana on the heels of Apollo! And the river! It was as though Nature had suddenly become lavish in her bounty and had sent a stream of melting silver trailing over all the land. There is nothing more beautiful to see than placid water as it reflects a summer's twilight. The blue Danube! Who has heard that magic name without the remembrance of a face close to your own, an arm, bare, white, dazzling, resting and gleaming like marble on your broadcloth sleeve, and above all, the dreamy, swinging strains of Strauss? There was a face once which had rested near mine. Heigho! I lingered with my cigar and watched the night reveal itself. I lay at the foot of a tree, close to the water's edge, and surrendered to the dream-god. Some of my dreams knew the bitterness of regret. "Men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for love." Yet, no man who has loved and lost can go through his allotted time without the consciousness that he has missed something, something which leaves each triumph empty and incomplete.
And then, right in the midst of my dreams, a small foot planted itself. I turned my head and saw a woman. On seeing the bright end of my cigar, she stopped. She stood so that the light of the moon fell full upon her face.
My cigar trembled and fell.
"Phyllis!" I cried, springing to my feet, almost dumbfounded, my heart nigh suffocating me in its desire to leap forth. "Phyllis!—and here? What does this mean?"
The woman looked at me with a puzzled frown, but did not answer. Then, as I started toward her with outstretched arms, she turned and fled into the shadows, leaving with me nothing but the echo of her laughter, the softest, sweetest laughter! I made no effort to follow her, because I was not quite sure that I had seen anything.
"Moonlight!" I laughed discordantly.
Phyllis in this deserted place? I saw how impossible that was. I had been dreaming. The spirit of some wood-nymph had visited me, and for a brief space had borrowed the features of the woman I loved. In vain I searched the grove. The vision was nowhere to be found. I went back to the inn somewhat shaken up.
Several old veterans were seated in the barroom, smoking bad tobacco and drinking a final bout. Their jargon was unintelligible to me.
"Where's your barmaid?" I asked of the inn-keeper.
His faded blue eyes scanned me sharply. I read a question in them and wondered.
"She went into the garden to get a breath of fresh air," he said. "She does not like the smoke."
It annoyed me. I had seen some one, then. What would Phyllis, proud Phyllis, say, I mused, when she heard that a barmaid was her prototype? This thought had scarcely left me when the door in the rear of the bar opened and in came the barmaid herself. No, it was not Phyllis, but the resemblance was so startling that I caught my breath and stared at her with a persistency which bordered on rudeness. The barmaid was blonde, whereas Phyllis was neither blonde nor brunette, but stood between the extremes, and there was a difference in the eyes: I could see that even in the insufficient light.
"Good evening, fraulein," said I, with apparent composure. "And what might your name be?"
"It is Gretchen, if it please you," with a courtesy. I had a vague idea that this courtesy was made mockingly.
"Gretchen? I have heard the name before," said I, "and you remind me of some one I have seen."
"Herr has been to the great city?"
B—— is the greatest city in the world to the provincial.
"Yes," said I; "but you remind me of no one I ever saw there."
She plucked a leaf from the rose she wore and began nibbling at it.Her mouth was smaller than the one belonging to Phyllis.
"The person to whom I refer," I went on, "lives in America, where your compatriots brew fine beer and wax rich."
"Ah, Herr is an American? I like Americans," archly. "They are so liberal."
I laughed, but I did not tell her why. All foreigners have a great love of Americans—"They are so liberal."
"So you find Americans liberal? Is it with money or with compliments?"
Said Gretchen: "The one when they haven't the other."
A very bright barmaid, thought I.
Then I said: "Is this your home?"
"Yes," said Gretchen. "I was born here and I have tended the roses for ever so long."
"I have heard of Gretchen of the steins, but I never before heard of aGretchen of the roses."
"Herr must have a large store of compliments on hand to begin this early."
"It is a part of my capital," said I. "Once in Switzerland I complimented an innkeeper, and when my bill was presented I found that all extras had been crossed off."
Gretchen laughed. It was a low laugh, a laugh which appeared to me as having been aroused not at what I had said, but at something which had recurred to her. I wanted to hear it again.
So I said: "I suppose you have a stein here from which the King has drunk; all taverns and inns have them."
Gretchen only smiled, but the smile was worth something.
"No; the King has never been within five miles of this inn."
"So much the worse for the King."
"And why that?"
"The King has missed seeing Gretchen."
It was then Gretchen laughed.
"I have never heard compliments like Herr's before."
"Why, I have any amount of them. I'll drink half a litre to your health."
She filled one of the old blue earthen steins.
"I haven't seen your roses in the gardens, but I'll drink to those in your cheeks," said I, and I drew back the pewter lid.
"How long does Herr intend to stay?" asked Gretchen.
"To the day is the evil thereof."
"Ah, one must be happy with nothing to do."
"Then you have the ambition common to all; to sit around and let others wait upon you?"
"No, that is not my ambition. I wish only to wait upon my own desires and not those of the—the others."
"It is all the same," said I. "Some must serve, others must be served."
When I went upstairs to my room it was my belief that a week or so at the inn would not hang heavy on my hands. I had forgotten for the moment the Princess, or that I was hunting for Hillars. It is strange how a face may upset one's plans. Gretchen's likeness to Phyllis, whom I loved, upset mine for many days to come.
As I gazed from my window the next morning I beheld the old innkeeper and Gretchen engaged in earnest conversation. He appeared to be pleading, nay, entreating, while she merely shook her head and laughed. Finally the old man lifted his hands to heaven and disappeared around the wing. When I came down Gretchen was in the gardens culling roses. She said they were for the table.
"Very well," said I; "give me one now."
"You may have them all at the table."
"But I shall not want them then."
She gave me an enigmatical glance, then cut a rose for me which was withered and worm-eaten.
"Gretchen is unkind," I observed.
"What matters it whether the rose be fresh or withered? It dies sooner or later. Nothing lasts, not even the world itself. You wish a rose, not because it is a rose, fresh and fragrant, but because I give it to you."
"You wrong me, Gretchen; I love a rose better than I love a woman. It never smiles falsely, the rose, nor plays with the hearts of men. I love a rose because it is sweet, and because it was made for man's pleasure and not for his pain."
"That sounds like a copy-book," laughed Gretchen. "The withered rose should teach you a lesson."
"What lesson?"
"That whatever a woman gives to man withers in the exchange; a rose, a woman's love."
Said I reproachfully: "You are spoiling a very pretty picture. What do you know about philosophy?"
"What does Herr know about roses?" defiantly.
"Much; one cannot pick too many fresh ones. And let me tell you a lesson which you should have learned among these roses. Nature teaches us to love all things fresh and beautiful; a rose, a face, a woman's love."
"Here," holding forth a great red rose.
"No," said I, "I'll keep this one."
She said nothing, but went on snipping a red rose here, a white one there. She wore gloves several sizes too large for her, so I judged that her hands were small and tender, perhaps white. And there was a grace in her movements, dispite the ungainly dress and shoes, which suggested a more intimate knowledge of velvets and silks than of calico. In my mind's eye I placed her at the side of Phyllis. Phyllis reminded me of a Venus whom Nature had whimsically left unfinished. Then she had turned from Venus to Diana, and Gretchen became evolved: a Diana, slim and willowy. A sculptor would have said that Phyllis might have been a goddess, and Gretchen a wood nymph, had not Nature suddenly changed her plans. What I admired in Phyllis was her imperfect beauties. What I admired in Gretchen was her beautiful perfections. And they were so alike and yet so different. Have you ever seen a body of fresh water, ruffled by a sudden gust of wind, the cool blue-green tint which follows? Then you have seen the color of Gretchen's eyes. Have you ever seen ripe wheat in a sun-shower? Then you have seen the color of Gretchen's hair. All in all, I was forced to admit that, from an impartial and artistic view Gretchen the barmaid was far more beautiful than Phyllis. From the standpoint of a lover it was altogether a different matter.
"Gretchen," said I, "you are very good-looking."
"It would not be difficult to tell Herr's nationality."
"Which means——?"
"That the American says in one sentence what it would take a German or a Frenchman several hundred sentences to say."
Gretchen was growing more interesting every minute.
"Then your mirror and I are not the only ones who have told you that you are as beautiful as Hebe herself?"
"I am not Hebe," coldly. "I am a poor barmaid, and I never spill any wine."
"So you understand mythology?" I cried in wonder.
"Does Herr think that all barmaids are as ignorant as fiction and ill-meaning novelists depict them? I have had a fair education."
"If I ever was guilty of thinking so," said I, answering her question,"I promise never to think so again."
"And now will Herr go to his breakfast and let me attend to my duties?"
"Not without regret," I said gallantly. I bowed to her as they bowed in the days of the beaux, while she looked on suspiciously.
At the breakfast table I proceeded to bombard the innkeeper. I wanted to know more about Gretchen.
"Is Gretchen your daughter?" I began.
"No, I am only her godfather," he said. "Does Herr wish another egg?"
"Thanks. She is very well educated for a barmaid."
"Yes. Does Herr wish Rhine wine?"
"Coffee is plenty. Has Gretchen seen many Americans?"
"Few. Perhaps Herr would like a knoblauch with salt and vinegar?"
It occurred to me that Gretchen was not to be discussed. So I made for another channel.
"I have heard," said I, "that once upon a time a princess was born in this inn?"
The old fellow elevated both eyebrows and shoulders—a deprecating movement.
"They say that of every inn; it has become a trade."
If I had known the old man I might have said that he was sarcastic.
"Then there is no truth in it?" disappointedly.
"Oh, I do not say there is no truth in the statement; if Herr will pardon me, it is something I do not like to talk about."
"Ah, then there is a mystery?" I cried, with lively interest, pushing back my chair.
But the innkeeper shook his head determinedly.
"Very well," I laughed; "I shall ask Gretchen."
He smiled. The smile said: "Much good it will do you."
Gretchen was in the barroom arranging some roses over the fireplace. Her hands were bare; they were small and white, and surprisingly well kept.
"Gretchen," said I, "I want you to tell me the legend of the inn."
"The legend?"
"Yes; about the Princess who was born here."
Gretchen laughed a merry laugh. The laugh said: "You are an amusing person!"
"Ah, the American is always after legends when he has tired of collecting antiquities. Was there a Princess born here? Perhaps. At any rate it is not a legend; history nor peasantry make mention of it. Will Herr be so kind as to carry the ladder to the mantel so I may wind the clock?"
I do so. Even at this early stage I could see that Gretchen had the faculty of making persons forget what they were seeking, and by the mere sound of her voice. And it was I who wound the clock.
"Gretchen," said I, "time lags. Make a servant out of me this morning."
"Herr does the barmaid too much honor," with lowered eyes.
"I, am in the habit of doing anything I please."
"Ah, Herr is one of those millionaires I have read about!"
"Yes, I am very rich." I laughed, but Gretchen did not see the point.
"Come, then, with me, and you shall weed the knoblauch patch."
She was laughing at me, but I was not to be abashed.
"To the patch be it, then!" I cried. "An onion would smell as sweet under any other name."
So Gretchen and I went into the onion patch, and I weeded and hoed and hoed and weeded till my back ached and my hands were the color of the soil. Nothing was done satisfactorily to Gretchen. It was, "There, you have ruined the row back of you!" or "Pull the weeds more gently!" and sometimes, "Ach! could your friends see you now!" I suppose that I did not make a pretty picture. The perspiration would run down my face. I would forget the condition of my hands and push back my hair, which fell like a mop over my brow, whereat she would laugh. Once I took her hand and helped her to jump over a row. I was surprised at the strength of her grasp.
"What does Herr do for a living, he works so badly as a gardener?"
"I am a journalist," I answered, leaning on my hoe and breathing heavily.
"Ach! one of those men who tell such dreadful stories about kings and princes? Who cause men to go to war with each other? Who rouse the ignorant to deeds of violence? One of those men who are more powerful than a king, because they can undo him?" She drew away from me.
"Hold on!" I cried, dropping the hoe; "what do you know about it?"
"Enough," sadly. "I read the papers. I always look with fear upon one of those men who can do so much good, and yet who would do so much evil."
I had never looked at it in that light before.
"It seems to me, Gretchen," I said quietly, "that you are about as much a barmaid as I am a weeder of knoblauches."
The color of excitement fled from Gretchen's cheeks, her eyes grew troubled and she looked away.
"Gretchen has a secret," said I. "It is nothing to me what Gretchen's secret is; I shall respect it, and continue to think of her only as a barmaid with—with a superior education." I shouldered the hoe. "Come, let us go back; I'm thirsty."
"Thank you, Herr," was the soft reply. Then Gretchen became as dumb, and our return to the inn was made in silence. Once there, however, she recovered. "I am sorry to have put you at such a disadvantage," glancing at my clothes, which were covered with brown earth.
"Let that be the least of your troubles!" I cried gayly. Then I hummed in English:
So, ho! dear Gretchen, winsome lass,I want no tricky wine,But amber nectar bring to me,Whose rich bouquet will cling to me,Whose spirit voice will sing to meFrom out the mug divineSo, here's your toll—a kiss—away,You Hebe of the Rhine!No goblet's gold means cheer to me,Let no cut glass get near to me—Go, Gretchen, haste the beer to me,And put it in the stein!
I thought I saw a smile on her lips, but it was gone before I was certain.
"Gott in Himmel!" gasped the astonished innkeeper, as I went into the barroom. I still had the hoe over my shoulder.
"Never mind, mein host. I've been weeding your knoblauch patch as a method of killing time."
"But—" He looked at Gretchen in dismay.
"It was I who led him there," said Gretchen, in answer to his inquiring eyes.
A significant glance passed between them. There was a question in his, a command in hers. I pretended to be examining the faded tints in the stein I held in my hand.
I was thinking: "Since when has an innkeeper waited on the wishes of his barmaid?"
There was a mystery after all.
I took my pipe and strolled along the river bank. What had I stumbled into? Here was an old inn, with rather a feudal air; but it was only one in a thousand; a common feature throughout the Continent. And yet, why had the gods, when they cast out Hebe, chosen this particular inn for her mortal residence? The pipe solves many riddles, and then, sometimes, it creates a density. I put my pipe into my pocket and cogitated. Gretchen had brought about a new order of things. A philosophical barmaid was certainly a novelty. That Gretchen was philosophical I had learned in the rose gardens. That she was also used to giving commands I had learned in the onion patch. Hitherto I had held the onion in contempt; already I had begun to respect it. Above all, Gretchen was a mystery, the most alluring kind of mystery—a woman who was not what she seemed. How we men love mysteries, which are given the outward semblance of a Diana or a Venus! By and by, my journalistic instinct awoke. Who are those who fear the newspapers? Certainly it is not the guiltless. Of what was Gretchen guilty? The inn-keeper knew. Was she one of those many conspirators who abound in the kingdom? She was beautiful enough for anything. And whence came the remarkable likeness between her and Phyllis? Here was a mystery indeed. I had a week before me; in that time I might learn something about Gretchen, even if I could solve nothing. I admit that it is true, that had Gretchen been plain, it would not have been worth the trouble. But she had too heavenly a face, too wonderful an eye, too delicious a mouth, not to note her with concern.
I did not see Gretchen again that day; but as I was watching the moon climb up, thinking of her and smoking a few pipes as an incense to her shrine, I heard her voice beneath my window. It was accompanied by the bass voice of the inn-keeper.
"But he is a journalist. Is it safe? Is anything safe from them?" came to my ears in a worried accent, a bass.
So the inn-keeper, too, was a Socialist!
Said an impatient contralto: "So long as I have no fear, why should you?"
"Ach, you will be found out and dragged back!" was the lamentation in a throaty baritone. Anxiety raises a bass voice at least two pitches. "If you would but return to the hills, where there is absolute safety!"
"No; I will not go back there, where everything is so dull and dead. I have lived too long not to read a face at a glance. His eyes are honest."
"Thanks, Gretchen," murmured I from above. I was playing the listener; but, then, she was only a barmaid.
"And it is so long," went on the contralto, "since I have seen a man—a strong one, I wish to see if my power is gone."
"Aha!" thought I; "so you have already laid plans for my capitulation,Gretchen?"
"But," said the bass voice once more, "supposing some of the military should straggle along? There might be one who has seen you before. Alas! I despair! You will not hide yourself; you will stay here till they find you."
I fell to wondering what in the world Gretchen had done.
"I have not been to the village since I was a little girl. Dressed as I am, who would recognize me? No one at the castle, for there is no one there but the steward. Would you send me away?"
"God forbid! But this American? You say you can read faces; how about the other one?"
Silence.
"Yes; how about him?"
Said Gretchen: "We are not infallible. And perhaps I was then much to blame."
"No; we are not infallible; that is the reason why you should take no chance," was the final argument of the innkeeper.
"Hush!" said Gretchen.
"Confound the pipe!" I muttered. It had fallen over the window sill.
Five minutes passed; I heard no sound. Glancing from the side of the window I saw that Gretchen and the innkeeper were gone.
Yes, there wasn't any doubt about it; Gretchen was a conspirator. The police were hunting for her, and she was threatened with discovery. It was beyond my imagination what she could have done. Moreover, she was rather courting danger; the military post was only five miles down the river. The one thing which bothered me was the "him" who had suddenly intruded upon the scene, invisible, but there, like Banquo's ghost. Perhaps her beauty had lured some fellow to follow her fortunes and his over-zeal, or lack of it, had brought ruin to some plot.
"Gretchen," said I, as I jumped into bed, "whoever he was, he must have been a duffer."
Her Serene Highness the Princess Hildegarde was in Jericho, and Hillars along with her, where I had consigned them.
Next morning Gretchen waited upon me at breakfast. She was quiet and answered my questions in monosyllables. Presently she laid something at the side of my plate. It was my pipe. I looked at her, but the leads of my eyes could not plumb the depths in hers.
"Thanks," said I. "It dropped from my window last night, while I was playing the disgraceful part of eavesdropper." I dare say she had expected anything but this candid confession. It was very cunning in me. She knew that I knew she knew. Had I lied I should have committed an irreparable blunder.
As it was she lifted her chin and laughed.
"Will you forgive me?"
"Yes; for you certainly wasted your time."
"Yes, indeed; for I am just as much in the dark as ever."
"And will remain so."
"I hope so. A mystery is charming while it lasts. Really, Gretchen, I did not mean to play the listener, and I promise that from now on——"
"From now on!" cried Gretchen. "Does not Herr leave to-day?"
"No; I am going to spend a whole week here."
There was a mixture of dismay and anger in her gaze.
"But, as I was going to say, I shall make no effort to pry into your affairs. Honestly, I am a gentleman."
"I shall try to believe you," said she, the corners of her mouth broadening into a smile.
She condescended to show me through the rose gardens and tell me what she knew about them. It was an interesting lecture. And in the evening she permitted me to row her about the river. We were getting on very well under the circumstances.
The week was soon gone, and Gretchen and I became very good friends. Often when she had nothing to do we would wander along the river through the forests, always, I noticed, by a route which took us away from the village. Each day I discovered some new accomplishment. Sometimes I would read Heine or Goethe to her, and she would grow rapt and silent. In the midst of some murmurous stanza I would suddenly stop, only to see her start and look at me as though I had committed a sacrilege, in that I had spoiled some dream of hers. Then again I myself would become lost in dreams, to be aroused by a soft voice saying: "Well, why do you not go on?" Two people of the opposite sexes reading poetry in the woods is a solemn matter. This is not appreciated at the time, however. It comes back afterward.
In all the week I had learned nothing except that Gretchen was not what she pretended to be. But I feared to ask questions. They might have spoiled all. And the life was so new to me, so quiet and peaceful, with the glamour of romance over it all, that I believe I could have stayed on forever. And somehow Phyllis was fading away, slowly but surely. The regret with which I had heretofore looked upon her portrait was lessening each day; from active to passive. And yet, was it because Gretchen was Phyllis in the ideal? Was I falling in love with Gretchen because she was Gretchen, or was my love for Phyllis simply renewing itself in Gretchen? Was that the reason why the portrait of Phyllis grew less holding and interesting to me? It was a complex situation; one I frowned over when alone. It was becoming plainer to me every hour that I had a mystery all of my own to solve. And Gretchen was the only one to solve it.
I shall never forget that night under the chestnuts, on the bank of the wide white river. The leaves were gossiping among themselves; they had so much to talk about; and then, they knew so much! Had not they and their ancestors filtered the same moonbeams, century on century? Had not their ancestors heard the tramp of the armies, the clash of the sabre, the roar of the artillery? Had not the hand of autumn and the hand of death marked them with the crimson sign? Ah, the leaves! It is well to press them in books when they themselves have such fine stories to tell.
"Gretchen," said I, echoing my thoughts, "had I been born a hundred years ago I must have been a soldier. Napoleon was a great warrior."
"So was Blücher, since it was he who helped overcome the littleCorsican."
The Germans will never forgive Napoleon.
"But war is a terrible thing," went on Gretchen.
"Yes, but it is a great educator; it teaches the vanquished how little they know."
"War is the offspring of pride; that is what makes it so abhorred."
"It is also the offspring of oppression; that is what makes it so great."
"Yes; when the people take up arms it is well. War is the torch of liberty in the hands of the people. Oh, I envy the people, who are so strong, yet know it not. If I were a man I would teach the people that a king has no divine right, save when it is conferred upon him by them."
"Gretchen, I'm afraid that you're a bit of a Socialist."
"And who is not who has any love for humanity?"
"A beautiful woman who is a Socialist, Gretchen, is a menace to the King. Sometimes he fears her. At large, she is dangerous. He seeks her, and if he finds her, he takes away her liberty." All this was said with a definite purpose. It was to let Gretchen know that I knew her secret. "Gretchen, you are an embryo Socialist; a chrysalis, as it were."
"No, Herr," sadly; "I am a butterfly whose wings have been clipped."
I had not expected this admission,
"Never mind," said I. "Gretchen, I do not want you to call me Herr; call me Jack."
"Jack!" she said. It became an uncommon name now.
"Whatever your true name may be, I shall never call you anything butGretchen."
"Ah, Jack!" She laughed, and the lurking echoes clasped the music of that laughter in their wanton arms and hurried it across the river.
"Sing to me," said I.
Then imagine my surprise—I, who had heard nothing but German fall from her lips?—when in a heavenly contralto she sang a chanson from "La Fille de Madame Angot," an opera forgotten these ten years!
"Elle est tellement innocente!"
She had risen, and she stood there before me with a halo of moonshine above her head. The hot blood rushed to my ears. Barmaid, Socialist, or whatever she might be, she was lovable. In a moment I was kissing her hand, the hand so small, so white, and yet so firm. A thousand inarticulate words came to my lips—from my heart! Did the hand tremble? I thought so. But swiftly she drew it from my clasp, all the joy and gladness gone from her face and eyes.
"No, no!" she cried; "this must not be; it must not be!"
"But I——" I began eagerly.
"You must not say it; I command you. If you speak, Gretchen will be Gretchen no more. Yes, the King seeks Gretchen; but will you drive her away from her only haven?" with a choking sound.
"Gretchen, trust me. Shall I go to-morrow? Shall I leave you in peace?" Somehow I believed myself to be in danger. "Speak!"
There was an interval of stillness, broken only by the beating of hearts. Then:
"Stay. But speak no word of love; it is not for such as I. Stay and be my friend, for I need one. Cannot a woman look with favor upon a man but he must needs become her lover? I shall trust you as I have trusted other men. And though you fail me in the end, as others have done, still I shall trust you. Herr, I conspire against the King. For what? The possession of my heart. All my life I have stood alone, so alone."
"I will be your friend, Gretchen; I will speak no word of love. Will that suffice?"
"It is all I ask, dear friend. And now will you leave me?"
"Leave you?" I cried. "I thought you bade me stay?"
"Ah," putting out her hand; "you men do not understand. Sometimes a woman wishes to be alone when—when she feels that she—she cannot hold back her tears!"
Gravely I bent over her hand and kissed it. It seemed to me as I let the hand fall that I had never kissed a woman on the lips. I turned and went slowly down the path. Once I looked back. I saw something white lying at the foot of the tree. Heaven knows what a struggle it was, but I went on. I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her that I loved her. When I reached the inn I turned again, but I saw nothing. I sat in my room a long time that night, smoking my pipe till the candle gasped feebly and died in the stick, and the room was swallowed in darkness.
I did not know, I was not sure, but I thought that, so long as I might not love Phyllis, it would not be a very hard task to love her image, which was Gretchen. You see, Phyllis was so very far away and Gretchen was so near!
I lowered the glasses. I discerned them to be cavalrymen, petty officers. They were mounted on spirited horses.
"Gretchen," said I, "they are cavalrymen. They do not wear the Hohenphalian uniform; so, perhaps, it would be just as well for you to go to your room and remain there till they are gone. Ah," said I, elevating the glasses again; "they wear his Majesty's colors. You had best retire."
"I refuse. They may be thirsty."
"I'll see to that," I laughed.
"But—" she began.
"Oh, Gretchen wishes to see new faces," said I, with chagrin.
"If it pleases you, sir," mischievously.
"What if they are looking for—for—"
"That is the very reason why I wish to see them."
"You are determined?"
"I am."
"Very well," said I; "you had best eat an onion."
"And for what purpose?"
"As a preventive to offensive tactics," looking slyly at her.
Her laugh rang out mockingly.
"Do you not know that aside from dueling, the German lives only for his barmaid, his beer and his knoblauch? Nevertheless, since you wish it I will eat one—for your sake."
"For my sake?" I cried in dismay. "Heaven forfend!"
"Does Herr——"
"Jack," said I.
"Does Herr Jack think," her eyes narrowing till naught but a line of their beautiful blue-green could be seen, "that one of those would dare take a liberty with me?"
"I hope he will not. I should have the unpleasant duty of punching his head." If I could not kiss Gretchen nobody else should.
"You are very strong."
"Yes; and there are some things which add threefold to a man's strength."
"Such as ——" She looked at me daringly.
"Yes, such as ——" Her eyes fell before my glance, A delicate veil of rose covered her face for a moment. I wondered if she knew that it was only because I clinched my fists till the nails cut, that I did not do the very thing I feared the stragglers coming down the road might do. "Come," said I, peremptorily; "there is no need of your welcoming them here."
So we entered the inn; and she began furbishing up the utensils, just to tease me more than anything else.
Outside there was a clatter of hoofs, the chink of the spur, intermingled with a few oaths; and then the two representatives of the King came in noisily. They gazed admiringly at Gretchen as she poured out their beer. She saw the rage in my eyes. She was aggravating with her promiscuous smiles. The elder officer noticed my bulldog pipe.
"English?" he inquired, indifferently. The German cannot disassociate an Englishman and a briarwood bulldog pipe.
"English," I answered discourteously. It mattered nothing to me whether he took me for an Englishman or a Zulu; either answered the purpose.
He wore an eyeglass, through which he surveyed me rather contemptuously.
"What is your name, fraulein?" he asked turning to Gretchen.
"Gretchen," sweetly.
"And what is the toll for a kiss?"
"Nothing," said Gretchen, looking at me. The lieutenant started for her, but she waved him off. "Nothing, Herr Lieutenant, because they are not for sale."
I moved closer to the bar.
"Out for a constitutional?" I asked, blowing the ash from the live coal in my pipe.
"We are on his Majesty's business," with an intonation which implied that the same was none of mine. "Gretchen, we shall return to-night, so you may lay two plates at a separate table," with an eye on me. He couldn't have hated me any more than I hated him. "Then, there is no way of getting a kiss?"
"No," said Gretchen.
"Then I'll blow you one;" and Gretchen made a pretty curtesey.
I nearly bit the amber stem off my pipe. They were soon gone, and I was glad of it.
"Herr Jack is angry," said Gretchen.
"Not at all," I growled. "What right have I to be angry?"
"Does Herr Jack wish Gretchen always to be sad?"
"Certainly not: but sometimes your joy is irritating. You are sad all day, then some strangers come, and you are all smiles. Your smiles do not come in my direction as often as I should like."
"Well, then, look at me," said Gretchen.
The smile would have dazzled an anchorite, let alone a man who didn't know whether he loved her for certain, but who was willing to give odds that he did!
"Gretchen!" I cried, starting toward her.
But with a low laugh she disappeared behind the door. Gretchen was a woman. As a man must have his tobacco, so must a woman have her coquetry. It was rather unfair of Gretchen, after what I had promised. It was like getting one in a cage and then offering sweetmeats at a safe distance.
It now became a question of analysis. So I went to the river and sat down in the grass. A gentle wind was stirring the leaves, and the sunbeams, filtering through the boughs, fell upon the ground in golden snowflakes. What was Gretchen to me that I should grow jealous of her smiles? The night before I could have sworn that I loved her; now I was not so sure. A week ago all the sunshine in the world had come from Phyllis's face; a shadow had come between. Oh, I knew the symptoms. They were not new to me. They had visited me some five years back, and had clung to me with the tenacity of a creditor to a man with expectations. When a man arrives at that point where he wants the society of one woman all to himself, the matter assumes serious proportions. And a man likes to fall in love with one woman and continue to love her all his days; it is more romantic. It annoys him to face the fact that he is about to fall in love with another. In my case I felt that there was some extenuation. Gretchen looked like Phyllis. When I saw Gretchen in the garden and then went to my room and gazed upon the likeness of Phyllis, I was much like the bachelor Heine tells about—I doddered.
The red squirrel in the branches above me looked wisely. He was wondering how long before the green burrs would parch and give him their brown chestnuts. I was contemplating a metaphysical burr. I wanted to remain true to Phyllis, though there wasn't any sense in my doing so. Had Gretchen resembled any one but Phyllis I never should have been in such a predicament. I should have gone away the day after my arrival. Here I was going into my second week. My assistant in London was probably worrying, having heard nothing from me during that time. As matters stood it was evident that I could not be true either to Phyllis or Gretchen, since I did not know positively which I loved. I knew that I loved one. So much was gained. I wanted to throw up a coin, heads for Phyllis, tails for Gretchen, but I couldn't bring myself to gamble on the matter. I threw a stick at his squirrelship, and he scurried into the hole in the crotch of the tree. A moment later he peered at me, and, seeing that nothing was going to follow the stick, crept out on the limb again, his tail bristling with indignation.
"If it hadn't been for Gretchen," said I, "you would have been a potpie long ago."
He must have understood my impotence, for he winked at me jeeringly.
A steamer came along then, puffing importantly, sending a wash almost at my feet. I followed it with my eye till it became lost around the bend. Over there was Austria and beyond, the Orient, a new world to me.
"If I could see them together!" I mused aloud.
The squirrel cocked his head to one side as if to ask: "Austria andTurkey?"
"No," said I, looking around for another stick; "Phyllis and Gretchen. If I could see them together, you know, I could tell positively then which I love. As it is, I'm in doubt. Do you understand?"
The squirrel ran out to the end of the limb and sat down. It was an act of deliberation.
"Well, why don't you answer?"
I was startled to my feet by the laughter which followed my question.A few yards behind me stood Gretchen.
"Can't you find a better confidant?" she asked,
"Yes, but she will not be my confidant," said I. I wondered how much she had heard of the one-sided dialogue. "Will you answer the question I just put to that squirrel of yours?"
"And what was the question?" with innocence not feigned.
"Perhaps it was, Why should Gretchen not revoke the promise to which she holds me?"
"You should know, Herr," said Gretchen, gently.
"But I do not. I only know that a man is human and that a beautiful woman was made to be loved." Everything seemed solved now that Gretchen stood at my side.
But she turned as if to go.
"Gretchen," I called, "do not go. Forgive me; if only you understood!'"
"Perhaps I do understand," she replied with a gentleness new to me."Do you remember why I asked you to stay?"
"Yes; I was to be your friend."
"This time it is for me to ask whether I go or stay."
"Stay, Gretchen!" But I was a hypocrite when I said it.
"I knew that you would say that," simply.
"Gretchen, sit down and I'll tell you the story of my life, as they say on the stage." I knocked the dead ash from my pipe and stuffed the bowl with fresh weed. I lit it and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. "Do you see that, Gretchen?"
"Yes, Herr," sitting down, the space of a yard between us.
"It is pretty, very; but see how the wind carries it about! As it leaves my throat it looks like a tangible substance. Reach for it and it is gone. That cloud of smoke is my history."
"It disappears," said Gretchen.
"And so shall I at the appointed time. That cloud of smoke was a fortune. I reached for it, and there was nothing but the air in my hand. It was a woman's love. For five years I watched it curl and waver. In it I saw many castles and the castles were fair, indeed. I strove to grasp this love; smoke, smoke. Smoke is nothing, given a color. Thus it is with our dreams. If only we might not wake!"
Gretchen's eyes were following the course of the languid river.
"Once there was a woman I thought I loved; but she would have none of it. She said that the love I gave her was not complete because she did not return it. She brought forth the subject of affinities, and ventured to say that some day I might meet mine. I scoffed inwardly. I have now found what she said to be true. The love I gave her was the bud; the rose— Gretchen," said I, rising, "I love you; I am not a hypocrite; I cannot parade my regard for you under the flimsy guise of friendship."
"Go and give the rose to her to whom you gave the bud," said Gretchen.The half smile struck me as disdainful. "You are a strange wooer."
"I am an honest one." I began plucking at the bark of the tree. "No; I shall let the rose wither and die on the stem. I shall leave to-morrow, Gretchen. I shall feel as Adam did when he went forth from Eden. Whatever your place in this world is it is far above mine. I am, in truth, a penniless adventurer. The gulf between us cannot be bridged."
"No," said Gretchen, the smile leaving her lips, "the gulf cannot be bridged. You are a penniless adventurer, and I am a fugitive from—the law, the King, or what you will. You are a man; man forgets. You have just illustrated the fact. His memory and his promises are like the smoke; they fade away but soon. I shall be sorry to have you go, but it is best so."
"Do you love any one else?"
"I do not; I love no one in the sense you mean. It was not written that I should love any man."
"Gretchen, who are you, and what have you done?"
"What have I done? Nothing! Who am I? Nobody!"
"Is that the only answer you can give?"
"It is the only answer I will give."
There was something in Gretchen's face which awed me. It was power and resolution, two things man seldom sees in a woman's face.
"Supposing, Gretchen, that I should take you in my arms and kiss you?" I was growing reckless because I felt awed, which seems rather a remarkable statement. "I know you only as a barmaid; why, not?"
She never moved to go away. There was no alarm in her eyes, though they narrowed.
"You would never forgive yourself, would you?"
I thought for a moment. "No, Gretchen, I should never forgive myself. But I know that if I ask you to let me kiss your hand before I go, you will grant so small a favor."
"There," and her hand stretched toward me. "And what will your kiss mean?"
"That I love you, but also respect you, and that I shall go."
"I am sorry."
It was dismal packing. I swore a good deal, softly. Gretchen was not in the dining-room when I came down to supper. It was just as well. I wanted to be cool and collected when I made my final adieu. After supper I lit my pipe (I shall be buried with it!) and went for a jaunt up the road. There was a train at six the next morning. I would leave on that. Why hadn't I taken Gretchen in my arms and kissed her? It would have been something to remember in the days to come. I was a man, and stronger; she would have been powerless. Perhaps it was the color of her eyes.
I had not gone up the highway more than 100 yards when I saw the lonely figure of a man tramping indirectly toward me and directly toward the inn. Even in the dusk of twilight there was something familiar about that stride. Presently the man lifted up his voice in song. The "second lead," as they say back of the scenes, was about to appear before the audience.
Evidently Hillars had found "Jericho" distasteful and had returned to protest.
"Hello, there!" he hailed, seeing but not recognizing me; "have you seen any cavalry pass this way?"
"No, I have not," I answered in English.
"Eh? What's that?" not quite believing it was English he had heard.
"I said that no cavalry has passed this way since this afternoon. Are they looking for you, you jail-bird in perspective?"
He was near enough now. "Well, I be dam'!" he cried. "What the devil are you doing here, of all places?"
"I was looking for you," said I, locking my arm in his.
"Everybody has been making that their occupation since I left Austria," cursing lowly. "I never saw such people."
"What have you been doing this time?"
"Nothing; but I want to do something right away. They have been hounding me all over the kingdom. What have I done? Nothing, absolutely nothing. It makes me hot under the collar. These German blockheads! Do they think to find the Princess Hildegarde by following me around? I'd give as much as they to find her."
"So you haven't seen anything of her?"
"Not a sign. I came here first, but not a soul was at the castle. Nobody knows where she is. I came here this time to throw them off the track, but I failed. I had a close shave this noon. I'll light out to-morrow. It isn't safe in these parts. It would be of no use to tell them that I do not know where the princess is. They have connected me with her as they connect one link of a chain to another. You can kill a German, but you can't convince him. How long have you been here?"
I did not reply at once. "About ten days."
"Ten days!" he echoed. "What on earth has kept you in this ruin that long?"
"Rest," said I, glibly. "But I am going away to-morrow. We'll go together. They will not know what to do with two of us."
"Yes, they will. You will be taken for my accomplice. . . . Hark! What's that?" holding his hand to his ear. "Horses. Come, I'm not going to take any risk."
So we made a run for the inn. In the twilight haze we could see two horsemen coming along the highway at a brisk gallop.
"By the Lord Harry!" Hillars cried excitedly; "the very men I have been dodging all day. Hurry! Can you put me somewhere for the time being? The garret; anywhere."
"Come on; there's a place in the garret where they'll never find you."
I got him upstairs unseen. If no one but I knew him to be at the inn, so much the better.
"O, say! This'll smother me," said Dan, as I pushed him into the little room.
"They'll put you in a smaller place," I said. "Hang it all Jack; I'd rather have it out with them."
"They have their pistols and sabres."
"That's so. In that case, discretion is the better part of valor, and they wouldn't appreciate any coup on my side. Come back and let me out as soon as they go."
I descended into the barroom and found the two officers interrogating the innkeeper. They were the same fellows who had visited the inn earlier in the day. Gretchen was at her place behind the bar. She was paler than usual.
"Ah," said the innkeeper, turning to me, "am I not right in saying that you are the only guest at the inn, and that no American has been here?"
I did not understand his motive, for he knew that I was an American.
"It is perfectly true," said I, "that I am your only guest."
"Ah, the Englishman!" said the lieutenant, suspiciously. "We are looking for a person by the name of Hillars whom we are charged to arrest. Do you know anything about him?"
"It is not probable," said I, nonchalantly.
I glanced at Gretchen. I could fathom nothing there.
"Well," snarled the lieutenant, "I suppose you will not object to my seeing your passports?"
"Not in the least," said I. But I felt a shock. The word "American" was written after the nationality clause in my passports. I was in for some excitement on my own account. If I returned from my rooms saying that I could not find my passports they would undoubtedly hold me till the same were produced. "I'll go and bring them for you," said I. I wanted some time in which to mature a plan of action, if action became necessary.
There was rather a sad expression in Gretchen's eyes. She understood to a fuller extent than I what was likely to follow when it was found that I had misrepresented myself. I cursed the folly which had led me to say that I was English. And I swore at the innkeeper for meddling. As I left the room I smiled at Gretchen, but she did not answer it. Perhaps I was gone five minutes. In that time I made up my mind to show the passports, and trust to luck for the rest. When I came back Gretchen had engrossed their attention. They took no notice of me. I have never understood how it came about, but all at once the lieutenant bent forward and kissed Gretchen on the cheek. She started back with a cry, then looked at me. That swift glance told me what to do. I took the lieutenant by the collar and flung him into the corner. The surprise on his face was not to be equaled. Then, as he rose to his feet, the veins in his neck swelled with rage.
"I'll pay you for that, you meddling beef-eater!" he roared.
"Don't mention it," said I, with an assumption of blandness which I did not feel. "That was simply gratuitous. It is a sample of what I shall do to you if you do not immediately ask this lady's pardon for the gross insult you have just offered her."
"Insult! To kiss a common barmaid an insult!" he yelled, now purpling."Why—why—what is this woman to you—this tavern wench, this—"
"Be careful," I warned.
Gretchen was calmly wiping her cheek; but her eyes were like polished emeralds.
"You came here, I believe," said I, "to see if my passports were proper."
"Damn you and your passports! Are you a gentleman?"
"Would you recognize one if you saw him?" I laughed.
"Can you fight?"
"Certainly," said I, thinking of the weapons nature in her kindness had given to me.
"Good! Otto, have the horses brought around. We will cut for the barracks and get the colonel's weapons—the rapiers."
The word "rapier" sent an icy chill up my spine. A duel!
"The devil!" said I, under my breath. I knew less about fencing than I did about aerial navigation, which was precious little. The fact that Gretchen was now smiling aggravated the situation. I could not help the shudder. Why, the fellow would make a sieve out of me!
"Will you look at my passports now?" I asked. "You may not have the opportunity again."
"Your passports from now on will be void," was the retort. "But I shall be pleased to give you a passport to the devil. I shall kill you," complacently.
"Think of my family," said I, a strange humor taking possession of me.
"You should have thought of your family before you struck me that blow," he replied.
My laughter was genuine; even Gretchen smuggled a smile. The lieutenant had taken my remark in all seriousness.
"You will not run away?" he asked.
"I shall probably be obliged to run away to-morrow," said I, smoothly. "I should not be able to account for your presence here. But I shall await your return from the barracks, never fear." All this was mere bravado; honestly, I shrunk within my clothes and shivered in my shoes. But I had an unfailing mental nerve. Some call it bluff.
Gretchen had been whispering to the innkeeper. When he moved from her side, she was smiling.
"What the deuce is she smiling about?" I wondered. "Does the woman take me for a modern D'Artagnan?"
"Innkeeper," said the lieutenant, "if this man is not here when I return, I'll take satisfaction out of your hide."
The innkeeper shrugged. "I have never heard of an Englishman running away."
"And I have seen many a German do that," I put in. "How am I to know that your going to the barracks is not a ruse?"
He gasped. The words would not come which would do justice to his feelings. He drew off one of his gloves and threw it into my face. It stung me. I should have knocked him down, but for the innkeeper stepping between.
"No, Herr," he said; "do not disable him."
"You had best go to the barracks at once," said I to the lieutenant.My clothes were too small for me now, and I did not shiver in my shoes.My "Yankee" blood was up. I would have fought him with battle axes.
"Herr," said the innkeeper, when the two had made off for the barracks, "you are a man of courage."
"Thanks," said I.
"Do you know anything about rapiers?" he asked.
"I know the handle from the blade; that's all. But that does not make any difference. I'd fight him with any weapon. He struck me; and then—then, he kissed Gretchen."
"I have wiped it off, Herr," said Gretchen, dryly. Then she passed from the room.
I went upstairs too. I looked out of my window. There was moonlight; possibly the last time I should ever see moonlight in the land of the living. Nothing but a mishap on my opponent's part, and that early in the combat, would save my epidermis. The absurd side of the affair struck me, and I laughed, mirthlessly, but none the less I laughed. If it had been pistols the chances would have been equal. A German does not like pistols as a dueling apparatus. They often miss fire. A sword is a surer weapon. And then, the French use them—the pistols—in their fiascoes. Rapiers? I was as familiar with the rapier as I was with the Zulu assegai. I unstrapped my traveling case and took out Phyllis's photograph. I put it back. If I was to have a last look at any woman it should be at Gretchen. Then I got out my cane and practiced thrusting and parrying. My wrist was strong.
"Well," I mused, "there's consolation in knowing that in two hours I shall be either dead or alive."
I flung the cane into the corner. To pass away the time I paced back and forth. It passed too quickly; and it was not long ere I heard the clatter of the returning cavalrymen. Some one knocked at my door. I swung it open and—was thrown to the floor, bound and gagged in a tenth of a minute.
"Put him on the bed," whispered the leader of my assailants. When this was done the voice added: "Now you can go to the stables and wait there till I call you."
It was the innkeeper. He surveyed me for a moment and scratched his chin.
"Will Herr keep perfectly quiet if I take the handkerchief from his mouth?" he asked.
I nodded, bewildered.
"What in tophet does this mean?" I gasped. I did not say tophet, but it looks better in writing.
"It means nothing and everything," was the answer. "In the first place, Herr will fight no duel. The man with whom you were to fight was sent on an errand to this out-of-the-way place as a punishment for dueling at the capital. I know him by reputation. He is a brawler, but a fair swordsman. He would halve you as I would a chicken. There is another who has a prior claim on him. If there is anything left of Herr Lieutenant at the end of the fray, you are welcome to it. Yes, there will be a duel, but you will not be one of the principals. It is all arranged."
"But I do not understand," I cried.
"It is not necessary that you should." He laughed and rubbed his hands in pleasurable anticipation. "There is a young man downstairs, who arrived a few moments before the lieutenant. He has a special affair. There were words. Herr Lieutenant is mad enough to fight a whole company."
"Then, why in heaven's name am I up here in this condition?" I cried. "Let me go and be the young man's second; though I can't for the life of me see where he has come from so suddenly, and I might say, opportunely. Come, cut me loose."
"It is too late!"
"Too late?"
"Yes. Herr Lieutenant has been informed that you ran away."
"Ran away!" I roared. "You told him that I ran away? Damn your insolence! I'll break every bone in your body for this!" I cried, straining at the ropes.
"The ropes are new," said he; "you'll hurt yourself."
"You told him that I ran away?" This was too much.
"Yes. Ah, but you will be surprised. The duel will last five minutes. Herr Lieutenant will thrust; the thrust will be parried. He will feint; useless. Thrust on thrust; parry on parry. Consternation will take the place of confidence; he will grow nervous; he will try all his little tricks and they will fail. Then his eyes will roll and his breath come in gasps. Suddenly he thinks he sees an opening; he lunges—ach! the fool; it is all over!" The old man's voice quivered with excitement. He had passed his time in the barracks and had seen many a sword skirmish.
"Well, are you going to take off these ropes?"
"No. You would break every bone in my body."
"Damn it, man!" I groaned, in exasperation.
"You will soon be out of breath."
Oh! could I have but loosened those cords!
"Stahlberg, who left the service a year ago, will act in the capacity of second." Stahlberg was at the head of the vineyard. "I shall watch the affair from the window here; the scene of action will take place in the clearing beyond. It will be an affair worth witnessing."
"And where is Gretchen?"
"Where she should be; at the bar, a dutiful bar-maid." Then I heard nothing but the deep cachinations of the innkeeper. There was something in the affair which appealed to his humor. I could not see it. For ten minutes my vocabulary was strictly unprintable.
"Will you kindly tell me what the meaning of all this is?"
"Herr Winthrop, the idyl has come to an end; the epic now begins."