“I never loved her!” I cried.  Where were the words I needed?

“So much the worse for you,” disdainfully.  “But here comes Hermann to announce your supper.”

“I shall not break the bread of inhospitality,” said I, in the bitterness of my despair.  I gathered up my traps—­and then I let them tumble back.  The needed words came with a rush to my lips.  I went close to her.  “Why did you humiliate yourself in begging my life of the Prince?  Why, if my life was nothing to you?  Answer.  Why did you stoop to your knees to that man if I was worthless to you?  Why?”

Her cheeks grew red, then white; her lips formed words which she could not speak.

“Herr Winthrop’s supper is ready,” announced the innkeeper.

“Go and eat it!” I said childishly.

“Your appetite is gone then?” imperturbably.

“Yes, and get you gone with it!”

The innkeeper surveyed me for a space.  “Will you kindly tell me from whom you received the information that Her Highness was at the inn?”

I produced the unsigned letter.  He read it carefully, while Gretchen looked on nervously.

“Ach!” said the innkeeper, “that Stahlberg!  He shall be dismissed.”

Unhappily for him, that individual was just passing along the corridor.  The innkeeper signaled him to approach.

“How dared you?” began the innkeeper, thrusting the letter under Stahlberg’s nose.

“Dare?—­I?—­Herr,” said the big fellow, “I do not understand.  What is it you accuse me of?”

“This,” cried the innkeeper:  “You have written to Herr Winthrop and told him that Her Highness was at the inn.  And you were expressly forbidden to do so.”

Stahlberg looked around blankly.  “I swear to heaven, Herr—­”

“Do not prevaricate!” the innkeeper interrupted.  “You know that you wrote this.”

“Stahlberg,” I cried excitedly; “tell me why you wrote this note to me and I’ll see that you are taken care of the rest of your days.”

“I forbid him!” commanded Gretchen in alarm.

“As God hears me, Herr,” said Stahlberg stoutly.  “I wrote not a line to you or to any one.”

“Oh!” cried the innkeeper, stamping.  “And you deny that you have written here that you saw Her Highness in the garden three nights ago?”

Gretchen was beginning to grow terrified for some reason.  I myself was filled with wonder, knowing well enough that nothing about a garden had been written in the note I had received.

“Do you dare deny,” went on the implacable old man, “that you have written here that you saw Her Highness in the garden, and that she was weeping and murmuring this man’s name?”

“Oh!” cried Gretchen, gazing wildly at the door.

The innkeeper suddenly took the bewildered giant by the shoulders and pushed him from the room, following him swiftly; and the door closed noisily behind them.