A sudden pang drove the merriment from her face. Ah, but
she envied Gretchen! For the peasant there was freedom, there was the
chosen mate; but for the princess--
"Your hat, scoundrel!" cried Hoffman.
The vintner snatched off his hat apologetically and swung it round on
the tips of his fingers.
"Is this the way you work?"
"I have picked nine baskets."
"You should have picked twelve."
It interested her highness to note that this handsome young fellow was
not afraid of the head vintner. So this was Gretchen's lover? He was
really handsome; there was nothing coarse about his features or figure.
And presently she realized that he was returning her scrutiny with
interest. He had never seen her highness at close range before, and he
now saw that Gretchen was more beautiful only because he saw her through
the eyes of a lover.
The pause was broken by Gretchen.
"Pardon, Highness!"
"For what, Gretchen?"
"For not having seen your approach."
"That was my fault, not yours. When is the wedding?"
"After the vintage, Highness."
Her highness then spoke to the bridegroom-elect. "You will be good to
her?"
"Who could help it, your Highness?"
The pronoun struck her oddly, for peasants as a usual thing never used
it in addressing the nobility.
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