ver 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 te