“Yes.”  The colonel experienced a weakness in the knees.

“Go.  But be advised and walk circumspectly.”  The speaker showed his back insolently, and reentered the Black Eagle.

The colonel, pale and distrait, stared at the empty door; and he saw in his mind’s eye a squad of soldiers, a wall, a single volley, and a dishonored roll of earth.  Military informers were given short shrift.  It was not a matter of tearing off orders and buttons; it was death.  Who was this terrible old man, with the mind of a serpent and the strength of a bear?  The colonel went to the barracks, but his usual debonair was missing.

“I am going into the garden, Gretchen.  Bring me a stein of brown.”  The mountaineer smiled genially.

“But I am not working here any more,” said Gretchen.

“No?”

“She has had a fortune left her,” said Fraeu Bauer.

“Well, well!” The mountaineer seemed vastly pleased.  “And how much is this fortune?”

“Two thousand crowns.”  Gretchen was not sure, but to her there always seemed to be a secret laughter behind those clear eyes.

“Handsome!  And what will you do now?”

“She is to study for the opera.”

“Did I not prophesy it?” he cried jubilantly.

“Did I not say that some impresario would discover you and make your fortune?”

“There is plenty of work ahead,” said Gretchen sagely.

“Always, no matter what we strive for.  But a brave heart and a cheerful smile carry you half-way up the hill.  Where were you going when this popinjay stopped you?”

“I was going to the clock-mender’s for a clock he is repairing.”

“I’ve nothing to do.  I’ll go with you.  I’ve an idea that I should like to talk with you about a very important matter.  Perhaps it would be easier to talk first and then go for the clock.  If you have it you’ll be watching it.  Will you come into the garden with me now?”

“Yes, Herr.”  Gretchen would have gone anywhere with this strange man.  He inspired confidence.

The garden was a snug little place; a few peach-trees and arbor-vines and vegetables, and tables and chairs on the brick walk.

“So you are going to become a prima donna?” he began, seating himself opposite her.

“I am going to try,” she smiled.  “What is it you wish to say to me?”

“I am wondering how to begin,” looking at the blue sky.

“Is it difficult?”

“Yes, very.”

“Then why bother?”

“Some things are written before we are born.  And I must, in the order of things, read this writing to you.”

“Begin,” said Gretchen.

“Have you any dreams?”

“Yes,” vaguely.

“I mean the kind one has in the daytime, the dreams when the eyes are wide open.”

“Oh, yes!”

“Who has not dreamed of riding in carriages, of dressing in silks, of wearing rich ornaments?”