ly the time and place that bothers me, not the face. A fine
beer," he said aloud, holding up the second tankard.

The vintner raised his; there was an unconscious grace in the movement.
A covert glance at his hand satisfied Carmichael in regard to one thing.
He might be a vintner, but the hand was as soft and well-kept as a
woman's, for all that it was stained by wind and sunshine. A handsome
beggar, whoever and whatever he was. But a second thought disturbed him.
Could a man with hands like these mean well toward Gretchen? He was a
thorough man of the world; he knew innocence at first glance, and
Gretchen was both innocent and unworldly. To the right man she might be
easy prey. Never to a man like Colonel von Wallenstein, whose power and
high office were alike sinister to any girl of the peasantry; but a man
in the guise of her own class, of her own world and people, here was a
snare Gretchen might not be able to foresee. He would watch this fellow,
and at the first sign of an evil--Carmichael's muscular brown hands
opened and shut ominously. The vintner did not observe this peculiar
expression of the hands; and Carmichael's face was bland.

A tankard, rapping a table near-by, called Gretchen to her duties. There
was something reluctant in her step, in the good-by glance, in the
sudden fall of the smiling lips.

"She will make some man a good wife," said Carmichael.

The vintner scowled at his tankard.

"He is not sure of her," thought Carmichael. Aloud he said: "What a
funny world it is!"

"How?"

"Gretchen is beautiful enough to be a queen, and yet she is merely a
Hebe in a tavern."

"Hebe?" suspiciously. The peasant is always suspicious of anything he
doesn't understand.

"Hebe was a cup-bearer to the mythological gods in olden times,"
Carmichael explained. He had set a trap, but the vintner had not fallen
into it.

"A fairy-story." The vintner nodded; he understood now.

Carmichael's glance once more rested on the vintner's hand. He would lay
another trap.

"What happened to her?"

"Oh," said Carmichael, "she spilled wine on a god one day, and they
banished her."

"It must have been a rare vintage."

"I suppose you are familiar with all valleys. Moselle?"

"Yes. That is a fine country."

The old man in tatters sat erect in his chair, but he did not turn his
head.

"You have served?"

"A little. If I could be an officer I should like the army." The vintner
reached for his pipe which lay on