“After the vintage,” she said, giving his arm a pressure.  For this handsome fellow was to be her husband when the vines were pruned and freshened against the coming winter.

“Aye, after the vintage,” he echoed; but there was tragedy in his heart as deep and profound as his love.

“My grandmother—­I call her that for I haven’t any grandmother—­is old and seldom leaves the house.  I promised that after work to-night I’d bring my man home and let her see how handsome he is.  She is always saying that we need a man about; and yet, I can do a man’s work as well as the next one.  I love you, too, Leo!” She pulled his hand to her lips and quickly kissed it, frightened but unashamed.

“Gretchen, Gretchen!”

She stopped.  “What is it?” keenly.  “There was pain in your voice.”

“The thought of how I love you hurts me.  There is nothing else, nothing, neither riches nor crowns, nothing but you, Gretchen.  How long ago was it I met you first?”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?  Is it not years?  Have I not always known and loved you?”

“And I!  What an empty heart and head were mine till that wonderful day!  You were tired and dusty and footsore; you had walked some twenty odd miles; yet you helped me with the geese.  There were almost tears in your eyes, but I knew that your heart was a man’s when you smiled at me.”  She stopped again and turned him round to her.  “And you love me like this?”

“Whatever betide, Lieberherz, whatever befall.”  And he embraced her with a fierce tenderness, and so strong was he in the moment that Gretchen gave a cry.  He kissed her, not on the lips, but on the fine white forehead, reverently.

They proceeded, Gretchen subdued and the vintner silent, until they came to the end of their journey at number forty in the Krumerweg.  It was a house of hanging gables, almost as old as the town itself, solid and grim and taciturn.  There are some houses which talk like gossips, noisy, obtrusive and provocative.  Number forty was like an old warrior, gone to his chair by the fireside, who listens to the small-talk of his neighbors saturninely.  What was it all about?  Had he not seen battles and storms, revolutions and bloodshed?  The prattle of children was preferable.

Gretchen’s grandmother, Fraeu Schwarz, owned the house; it was all that barricaded her from poverty’s wolves, and, what with sundry taxes and repairs and tenants who paid infrequently, it was little enough.  Whatever luxuries entered at number forty were procured by Gretchen herself.  At present the two stories were occupied; the second by a malter and his brood of children, the third by a woman who was partially bedridden.  The lower or ground floor of four rooms she reserved for herself.  As a matter of fact the forward room, with its huge middle-age fireplace and the great square of beamed and plastered walls and stone flooring, was sizable for all domestic purposes.  Gretchen’s pallet stood in a small alcove and the old woman’s bed by the left of the fire.