It was a miracle.
She would tell them all that night in the dark old Krumerweg. And for
the moment his prospect overshadowed all thought of her geese.
The civilian dusted the royal cap with his sleeve, returned it, and
mounted. He then looked casually at the girl.
"By George!" he exclaimed, in English.
"What is it?" asked the duke, gathering up the reins.
"The girl's face; it is beautiful."
The duke, after a glance, readily agreed. "You Americans are always
observant."
"Whenever there's a pretty face about," supplemented Ducwitz.
"I certainly shouldn't trouble to look at a homely one," the American
retorted.
"Pretty figure, too," said one of the aides, a colonel. But his eye
held none of the abstract admiration which characterized the American's.
The goose-girl had seen this look in other men's eyes; she knew. A faint
color grew under her tan, and waned, but her eyes wavered not the
breadth of a hair. It was the colonel who finally was forced to turn his
gaze elsewhere, chagrined. His face was not unfamiliar to her.
"Beauty is a fickle goddess," remarked Ducwitz tritely, settling himself
firmly in the saddle. "In giving, she is as blind as a bat. I know a
duchess now--but never mind."
"Let us be going forward," interrupted the duke.
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