Grumbach 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 has no parents; only an uncle, who doesn’t count.  We shall live with grandmother and pay her rent.”

“And you are wearing a new dress,” admiringly.

Gretchen preened herself.  Hans dropped the lid of his stein and pushed it away.  His heart always warmed at the sight of this goose-girl.  So she had a dowry and was going to be married?  He felt of his wallet, and a kindly thought came into being.  He counted down the small change for the beer, slid back his chair, and sauntered to the bar.  Gretchen recognized him, and the recognition brought a smile to her face.