"She went into the garden to get a breath of fresh air," he said. "She
does not like the smoke."
It annoyed me. I had seen some one, then. What would Phyllis, proud
Phyllis, say, I mused, when she heard that a barmaid was her prototype?
This thought had scarcely left me when the door in the rear of the bar
opened and in came the barmaid herself. No, it was not Phyllis, but
the resemblance was so startling that I caught my breath and stared at
her with a persistency which bordered on rudeness. The barmaid was
blonde, whereas Phyllis was neither blonde nor brunette, but stood
between the extremes, and there was a difference in the eyes: I could
see that even in the insufficient light.
"Good evening, fraulein," said I, with apparent composure. "And what
might your name be?"
"It is Gretchen, if it please you," with a courtesy. I had a vague
idea that this courtesy was made mockingly.
"Gretchen? I have heard the name before," said I, "and you remind me
of some one I have seen."
"Herr has been to the great city?"
B---- is the greatest city in the world to the provincial.
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