"And to me?" said the youth.

"I could not wish you better luck than to give you Gretchen. Now, leave
me."

The vintner picked up his hat and Gretchen led him to the street.

He hurried away, giving no glance at the closed carriage, the sleepy
driver, the weary horse. Neither did he heed the man dressed as a carter
who, when he saw the vintner, turned and followed. Finally, when the
vintner veered into the Adlergasse, he stopped, his hands clenched, his
teeth hard upon each other. He even leaned against the wall of a house,
his face for the moment hidden in his arm.

"Wretch that I am! Damnable wretch! Krumerweg, Krumerweg! Crooked way,
indeed!" He flung down his arm passionately. "There will be a God up
yonder," looking at the stars. "He will see into my heart and know that
it is not bad, only young. Oh, Gretchen!"

"Gretchen?" The carter stepped into a shadow and waited.

* * * * *

Carmichael did not enjoy the opera that night. He had missed the first
acts, and the last was gruesome, and the royal box was vacant. Outside
he sat down on one of the benches near the fountains in the Platz. His
prolific imagination took the boundaries. Ah! That morning's ride, down
the southern path of the mountains, the black squirrels in the branches,
the red fox in the bushes, the clear spring, and the drink out of the