“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 you are in trouble, you will find me at the Grand Hotel or at the consulate next door to the Black Eagle.”

“I shall remember.  Sometimes I work in the Black Eagle.”  And recollection rose in her mind of the old man who had given her the gold piece.

“Good night,” he said.

“Thank you, Herr.”

Gretchen extended her hand and Carmichael took it in his own, inspecting it.

“Why do you do that?”

“It is a good hand; it is strong, too.”

“It has to be strong, Herr.  Good night.”

Carmichael raised his hat again, and Gretchen breathed contentedly as she saw him disappear in the crowd.  That little act of courtesy made everything brighter.  There was only one other who ever touched his hat to her respectfully.  And as she stood there, dreaming over the unusual happenings of the day, she felt an arm slip through hers, gently but firmly, even with authority.  Her head went round.

“Leo?” she whispered.

The young vintner whom Carmichael had pushed against the wall that day smiled from under the deep shade of his hat, drawn down well over his face.

“Gretchen, who was that speaking to you?”

“Herr Carmichael, the American consul.”

“Carmichael!” The arm in Gretchen’s stiffened.

“What is it, Leo?”

“Nothing.  Only, I grow mad with rage when any of these gentlemen speak to you.  Gentlemen!  I know them all too well.”

“This one means no harm.”

“I would I were certain.  Ah, how I love you!” he whispered.

Gretchen thrilled and drew his arm closely against her side.

“To me the world began but two weeks ago.  I have just begun to live.”

“I am glad,” said Gretchen.  “But listen.”

The band was playing again.

“Sometimes I am jealous even of that.”

“I love you none the less for loving it.”

“I know; but I am sad and lonely to-night”—­gloomily.  “I want all your thoughts.”

“Are they not always yours?  And why should you be sad and miserable?”

“Why, indeed!”

“Leo, as much as I love you, there is always a shadow.”

“What shadow?”

“It is always at night that I see you, rarely in the bright daytime. 
What do you do during the day?  It is not yet vintage.  What do you do?”

“Will you trust me a little longer, Gretchen, just a little longer?”

“Always, not a little longer, always.  But wait till the music stops and I will tell you of my adventure.”