A covert glance at his hand satisfied Carmichael in regard to one thing.
He might be a vintner, but the hand was as soft and well-kept as a
woman's, for all that it was stained by wind and sunshine. A handsome
beggar, whoever and whatever he was. But a second thought disturbed him.
Could a man with hands like these mean well toward Gretchen? He was a
thorough man of the world; he knew innocence at first glance, and
Gretchen was both innocent and unworldly. To the right man she might be
easy prey. Never to a man like Colonel von Wallenstein, whose power and
high office were alike sinister to any girl of the peasantry; but a man
in the guise of her own class, of her own world and people, here was a
snare Gretchen might not be able to foresee. He would watch this fellow,
and at the first sign of an evil--Carmichael's muscular brown hands
opened and shut ominously. The vintner did not observe this peculiar
expression of the hands; and Carmichael's face was bland.

A tankard, rapping a table near-by, called Gretchen to her duties. There
was something reluctant in her step, in the good-by glance, in the
sudden fall of the smiling lips.

"She will make some man a good wife," said Carmichael.

The vintner scowled at his tankard.

"He is not sure of her," thought Carmichael. Aloud he said: "What a
funny world it is!"

"How?"

"Gretchen is beautiful enough to be a queen, and yet she is merely a
Hebe in a tavern."