Carmichael made his way to the table. Across the room he had not
recognized the vintner, but now he remembered. He had crowded him
against a wall two or three days before.

"This seat is not reserved, Herr?" he asked pleasantly, with his hand on
the back of the chair.

"No." There was no cordiality in the answer. The vintner turned back the
lid of his stein and drank slowly.

Carmichael sat down sidewise, viewing the scene with never-waning
interest. These German taverns were the delight of his soul. Everybody
was so kindly and orderly and hungry. They ate and drank like persons
whose consciences were not overburdened. From the corner of his eye he
observed that the vintner was studying him. Now this vintner's face was
something familiar. Carmichael stirred his memory. It was not in
Dreiberg that he had seen him before. But where?

Gretchen arrived with the tankard which she sat down at Carmichael's
elbow.

"Will you not join me, Herr?" he invited.

"Thank you," said the vintner, without hesitation.

He smiled at Gretchen and she smiled at him. Carmichael smiled at them
both tolerantly.

"What will you be drinking?"