He
repeated the order, but he did not touch the second glass. He threw back
the lid and stared at the creamy froth as a seer stares at his ball of
crystal. Carmichael was right; he was a doddering fool. What was done
was done, and a thousand consciences would not right it. And what right
had conscience to drag him back to Ehrenstein, where he had known the
bitterest and happiest moments of his life? And yet, rail as he might at
this invisible restraint called conscience, he saw God's direction in
this return. Only _he_, Hans Grumbach, knew and one other. And that
other, who?
Fat, Tekla was fat; and he had treasured the fair picture of her youth
these long years! Well, there was an end to that. Little fat Tekla, to
have nearly overturned a duchy, and never a bit the wiser! And then Hans
became aware of voices close at hand, for he sat near the bar.
"Yes, Fraeu, he is at work in the grand duke's vineyards. And think, the
first day he picked nine baskets."
"That is good. But I know many a one who can pick their twelve. And you
are to be married when the vintage is done? You will make a fine wife,
Gretchen."
"And he, a fine husband."
"And you will bring him a dowry, too. But his own people; what does he
say of them?"
"He has no parents; only an uncle, who doesn't count.
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