oubt. And down in your heart you do, too. Think of the
lights, the theaters, the cafes and the pretty women!" Carmichael's cane
described a flourish as if to draw a picture of these things.

"Yes, yes," agreed the colonel reminiscently; "you are right. There is
no other night equal to a Parisian night. _Ach, Gott!_ But think of the
mornings, think of the mornings!"--dolefully.

"On the contrary, let us not think of them!"--with a mock shudder.

And then a pretty woman rose from a chair near-by. She nodded brightly
at the colonel, who bowed, excused himself to Carmichael, and made off
after her.

"I believe I stepped on his toe that time," said Carmichael to himself.

Then he looked round for Gretchen. She was still at the side of the
policeman. She had watched the scene between the two men, but was quite
unconscious that it had been set for her benefit. She came back.
Carmichael stepped confidently to her side and raised his hat.

"Did you get your geese together without mishap?" he asked.

The instinct of the child always remains with the woman. Gretchen
smiled. This young man would be different, she knew.

"They were only frightened. But his highness"--eagerly--"was he very
angry?"

"Angry? Not the least. He was amused. But he was nearly knocked off his
horse. If you lived in America now, you might reap a goodly profit from
that goose."

"America? How?"

"You could put him in a museum and exhibit him as an intimate friend of
the grand duke of Ehrenstein."

But Gretchen did not laugh. It was a serious thing to talk lightly of so
grand a person as the duke. Still, the magic word America, where the
gold came from, flamed her curiosity.

"You are from America?"

"Yes."

"Are you rich?"

"In fancy, in dreams"--humorously.

"Oh! I thought they were all rich."

"Only one or two of us."

"Is it very large, this America?"

"France, Spain, Prussia would be lonesome if set down in America. Only
Russia has anything to boast of."

"Did you fight in the war?"

"Yes. Do you like music?"

"Were you ever wounded?"

"A scratch or two, nothing to speak of. But do you like music?"

"Very, very much. When they play Beethoven, Bach, or Meyerbeer, _ach_, I
seem to live in another country. I hear music in everything, in the
leaves, the rain, the wind, the stream."

It seemed strange to him that he had not noticed it at first, the almost
Hanoverian purity of her speech and the freedom with which she spoke.