This was a command and Gretchen obeyed with alacrity.  It would not be difficult, thought Gretchen, to love a princess like this, who was not only lovely but sensible.  The two sat mutely.  They were strangely alike.  Their eyes nearly matched, their hair, even the shape of their faces.  They were similarly molded, too; only, one was slender and graceful, after the manner of fashion, while the other was slender and graceful directly from the hands of nature.  The health of outdoors was visible in their fine skins and clear eyes.  The marked difference lay, of course, in their hands.  The princess had never toiled with her fingers except on the piano.  Gretchen had plucked geese and dug vegetables with hers.  They were rough, but toil had not robbed them of their natural grace.

“How was she?” her highness asked.

“About the same, Highness.”

“Have you wondered why she should write to me?”

“Highness, it was natural that I should,” was Gretchen’s frank admission.

“She took me in when nobody knew who I was, clothed and fed me, and taught me music so that some day I should not be helpless when the battle of life began.  Ah,” impulsively, “had I my way she would be housed in the palace, not in the lonely Krumerweg.  But my father does not know that she is in Dreiberg; and we dare not tell him, for he still believes that she had something to do with my abduction.”  Then she stopped.  She was strangely making this peasant her confidante.  What a whim!

“Highness, that could not be.”

“No, Gretchen; she had nothing to do with it.”  Her highness leveled her gaze at the flowers, but her eyes saw only the garret or the barnlike loneliness of the opera during rehearsals.

Gretchen did not move.  She saw that her highness was dreaming; and she herself had dreams.

“Do you like music?”

“Highness, I am always singing.”

“La-la—­la!” sang the princess capriciously.

“La-la—­la!” sang Gretchen smiling.  Her voice was not purer or sweeter; it was merely stronger, having been accustomed to the open air.

“Brava!” cried the princess, dropping book and whip and folding the note inside the book.  “Who taught you to sing?”

“Nobody, highness.”

“What do you do?”

“I am a goose-girl; in the fall and winter I work at odd times in the Black Eagle.”

“The Black Eagle?  A tavern?”

“Yes, Highness.”

“Tell me all about yourself.”

This was easy for Gretchen; there was so little.

“Neither mother nor father.  Our lives are something alike.  A handsome girl like you must have a sweetheart.”

Gretchen blushed.  “Yes, Highness.  I am to be married soon.  He is a vintner.  I would not trade him for your king, Highness,” with a spice of boldness.