I bowed to her as they bowed
in the days of the beaux, while she looked on suspiciously.
At the breakfast table I proceeded to bombard the innkeeper. I wanted
to know more about Gretchen.
"Is Gretchen your daughter?" I began.
"No, I am only her godfather," he said. "Does Herr wish another egg?"
"Thanks. She is very well educated for a barmaid."
"Yes. Does Herr wish Rhine wine?"
"Coffee is plenty. Has Gretchen seen many Americans?"
"Few. Perhaps Herr would like a knoblauch with salt and vinegar?"
It occurred to me that Gretchen was not to be discussed. So I made for
another channel.
"I have heard," said I, "that once upon a time a princess was born in
this inn?"
The old fellow elevated both eyebrows and shoulders--a deprecating
movement.
"They say that of every inn; it has become a trade."
If I had known the old man I might have said that he was sarcastic.
"Then there is no truth in it?" disappointedly.
"Oh, I do not say there is no truth in the statement; if Herr will
pardon me, it is something I do not like to talk about."
"Ah, then there is a mystery?" I cried, with lively interest, pushing
back my chair.
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