umbach was indeed perturbed, and this sensation was the result of what
he had _not_ told his friend. _Gott!_ What was going on? He hadn't the
least idea where his footsteps were leading him. He went on, his teeth
set strongly on the horn mouthpiece of his pipe, his hands jammed in his
pockets. And after a time he woke. He was in the Adlergasse. And of all
that happy, noisy family, only he and Hermann left! In one of the open
doorways, for it was warm, a final caress of vanishing summer, he saw a
fat, youngish woman knitting woolen hose. Two or three children
sprawled about her knees. There was that petulance of lip and forehead
which marked the dissatisfaction of the coquette married.

"Tekla!" Grumbach murmured.

He was not conscious that he had paused, but the woman was. She eyed him
with the mild indifference of the bovine. Then she dropped her glance
and the shining needles clicked afresh. Grumbach forced his step onward.
And for this! He laughed discordantly. The woman looked up again
wonderingly. Now, why should this stranger laugh all by himself like
that?

Hans saw the sign of the Black Eagle, and directed his steps
thitherward. He sat down and ordered a beer, drinking it quickly. He
repeated the order, but he did not touch the second glass. He threw back
the lid and stared at the creamy froth as a seer stares at his ball of
crystal. Carmichael was right; he was a doddering fool. What was done
was done, and a thousand consciences would not right it. And what right
had conscience to drag him back to Ehrenstein, where he had known the
bitterest and happiest moments of his life? And yet, rail as he might at
this invisible restraint called conscience, he saw God's direction in
this return. Only _he_, Hans Grumbach, knew and one other. And that
other, who?

Fat, Tekla was fat; and he had treasured the fair picture of her youth
these long years! Well, there was an end to that. Little fat Tekla, to
have nearly overturned a duchy, and never a bit the wiser! And then Hans
became aware of voices close at hand, for he sat near the bar.

"Yes, Fraeu, he is at work in the grand duke's vineyards. And think, the
first day he picked nine baskets."

"That is good. But I know many a one who can pick their twelve. And you
are to be married when the vintage is done? You will make a fine wife,
Gretchen."

"And he, a fine husband."

"And you will bring him a dowry, too. But his own people; what does he
say of them?"

"He