The average peasant is diffident, with a vocabulary of few words,
ignorant of art or music or where the world lay.

"What is your name?"

"Gretchen."

"It is a good name; it is famous, too."

"Goethe used it."

"So he did." Carmichael ably concealed his surprise: "You have some one
who reads to you?"

"No, Herr. I can read and write and do sums in addition."

He was willing to swear that she was making fun of him. Was she a simple
goose-girl? Was she not something more, something deeper? War-clouds
were forming in the skies; they might gather and strike at any time. And
who but the French could produce such a woman spy? Ehrenstein was not
Prussia, it was true; but the duchy with its twenty thousand troops was
one of the many pulses that beat in unison with this man Bismarck's
plans. Carmichael addressed her quickly in French, aiming to catch her
off her guard.

"I do not speak French, Herr,"--honestly.

He was certainly puzzled, but a glance at her hands dissolved his
doubts. These hands were used to toil, they were in no way disguised. No
Frenchwoman would sacrifice her hands for her country; at least, not to
this extent. Yet the two things in his mind would not readily cohese: a
goose-girl who was familiar with the poets and composers.

"You have been to school?"

"After a manner. My teacher was a kind priest. But he never knew that,
with knowledge, he was to open the gates of discontent."

"Then you are not happy with your lot?"

"Is any one, Herr?"--quietly. "And who might you be, and what might you
be doing here in Dreiberg, riding with the grand duke?"

"I am the American consul."

Gretchen took a step back.

"Oh, it is nothing that will bite you," he added.

"But perhaps I have been disrespectful!"

"Pray, how?"

Gretchen found that she had no definite explanation to offer.

"What did Colonel Wallenstein say to you?"

"Nothing of importance. I am used to it. I am perfectly able to take
care of myself," she answered.

"But he annoyed you."

"That is true," she admitted.

"What did the policeman say?"

"What would he say to a goose-girl?"

"Shall I speak to him?"

"Would it really do any good?"--skeptically.

"It might. The duke is friendly toward me, and I am certain he would not
tolerate such conduct in his police."

"You would only make enemies for me; insolence would become persecution.
I know. Yet, I thank you, Herr--"

"Carmichael. Now, listen, Gretchen; if at any time