“Is this the hand of a liar and a cheat?  Is it the hand of a dishonest man?”

“There is no dishonesty there; but there are lines I do not understand.  Oh, I can not see everything; it is like seeing people in a mist.  They pass instantly and disappear.  But I repeat, do you mean well by my girl?”

“Before God and His angels I love her; before all mankind I would gladly declare it.  Gretchen shall never come to harm at these hands.  I swear it.”

“I believe you.”  The old woman’s form relaxed its tenseness.

“Thanks, grandmother,” said Gretchen.  “Now, read what my hand says.”

The old woman took the hand.  She loved Gretchen.

“I read that you are gentle and brave and cheerful, that you have a loyal heart and a pure mind.  I read that you are in love and that some day you will be happy.”  A smile went over her face, a kind of winter sunset.

“You are not looking at my hand at all, grandmother,” said Gretchen in reproach.

“I do not need, my child.  Your life is written in your face.”  The grandmother spoke again to the vintner.  “So you will take her away from me?”

“Will it be necessary?” he returned quietly.  “Have you any objection to my becoming your foster grandchild, such as Gretchen is?”

The old woman made no answer.  She closed her eyes and did not open them.  Gretchen motioned that this was a sign that the interview was ended.  But as he rose to his feet there was a sound outside.  A carriage had stopped.  Some one opened the door and began to climb the stairs.  The noise ceased only when the visitor reached the top landing.  Then all became still again.

“There is something strange going on up there,” said Gretchen in a whisper.

“In what way?” asked the vintner in like undertones.

“Three times a veiled lady has called at night, three times a man muffled up so one could not see his face.”

“Let us not question our twenty-crowns rent, Gretchen,” interrupted the grandmother, waking.  “So long as no one is disturbed, so long as the police are not brought to our door, it is not our affair.  Leopold, Gretchen, give me your hands.”  She placed them one upon the other, then spread out her hands above their heads.  “The Holy Mother bring happiness and good luck to you, Gretchen.”

“And to me?” said the youth.

“I could not wish you better luck than to give you Gretchen.  Now, leave me.”

The vintner picked up his hat and Gretchen led him to the street.

He hurried away, giving no glance at the closed carriage, the sleepy driver, the weary horse.  Neither did he heed the man dressed as a carter who, when he saw the vintner, turned and followed.  Finally, when the vintner veered into the Adlergasse, he stopped, his hands clenched, his teeth hard upon each other.  He even leaned against the wall of a house, his face for the moment hidden in his arm.