prompt:
Chapter: Krumerweg was indeed a crooked way. It formed a dozen elbows and ragged
half-circles as it slunk off from the Adlergasse. Streets have character
even as humans, and the Krumerweg reminded one of a person who was
afraid of being followed. The shadow of the towering bergs lay upon it,
and the few stars that peered down through the narrow crevice of
rambling gables were small, as if the brilliant planets had neither time
nor inclination to watch over such a place. And yet there lived in the
Krumerweg many a kind and loyal heart, stricken with poverty. In old
times the street had had an evil name, now it possessed only a pitiful
one.

It was half after nine when Gretchen and the vintner picked their way
over cobbles pitted here and there with mud-holes. They were arm in arm,
and they laughed when they stumbled, laughed lightly, as youth always
laughs when in love.

"Only a little farther," said Gretchen, for the vintner had never before
passed over this way.

"Long as it is and crooked, Heaven knows it is short enough!" He
encircled her with his arms and kissed her. "I love you! I love you!" he
said.

Gretchen was penetrated with rapture, for her ears, sharp with love and
the eternal doubting of man, knew that falsehood could not lurk in such
music. This handsome boy loved her. Buffeted as she had been, she could
separate the false from the true. Come never so deep a sorrow, there
would always be this--he loved her. Her bosom swelled, her heart
throbbed, and she breathed in ecstasy the sweet chill air that rushed
through the broken street.

"After the vintage," she said, giving his arm a pressure. For this
handsome fellow was to be her husband when the vines were pruned and
freshened against the coming winter.

"Aye, after the vintage," he echoed; but there was tragedy in his heart
as deep and profound as his love.

"My grandmother--I call her that for I haven't any grandmother--is old
and seldom leaves the house. I promised that after work to-night I'd
bring my man home and let her see how handsome he is. She is always
saying that we need a man about; and yet, I can do a man's work as well
as the next one. I love you, too, Leo!" She pulled his hand to her lips
and quickly kissed it, frightened but unashamed.

"Gretchen, Gretchen!"

She stopped. "What is it?" keenly. "There was pain in your voice."

"The thought of how I love you hurts me. There is nothing else, nothing,
neither riches nor crowns, nothing but you, Gretchen. How long ago was
it I met you first?"

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks? Is it not years? Have I not always known and loved you?"

"And I! What an empty heart and head were mine till that wonderful day!
You were tired and dusty and footsore; you had walked some twenty odd
miles; yet you helped me with the geese. There were almost tears in your
eyes, but I knew that your heart was a man's when you smiled at me."
She stopped again and turned him round to her. "And you love me like
this?"

"Whatever betide, _Lieberherz_, whatever befall." And he embraced her
with a fierce tenderness, and so strong was he in the moment that
Gretchen gave a cry. He kissed her, not on the lips, but on the fine
white forehead, reverently.

They proceeded, Gretchen subdued and the vintner silent, until they came
to the end of their journey at number forty in the Krumerweg. It was a
house of hanging gables, almost as old as the town itself, solid and
grim and taciturn. There are some houses which talk like gossips, noisy,
obtrusive and provocative. Number forty was like an old warrior, gone to
his chair by the fireside, who listens to the small-talk of his
neighbors saturninely. What was it all about? Had he not seen battles
and storms, revolutions and bloodshed? The prattle of children was
preferable.

Gretchen's grandmother, Fraeu Schwarz, owned the house; it was all that
barricaded her from poverty's wolves, and, what with sundry taxes and
repairs and tenants who paid infrequently, it was little enough.
Whatever luxuries entered at number forty were procured by Gretchen
herself. At present the two stories were occupied; the second by a
malter and his brood of children, the third by a woman who was partially
bedridden. The lower or ground floor of four rooms she reserved for
herself. As a matter of fact the forward room, with its huge middle-age
fireplace and the great square of beamed and plastered walls and stone
flooring, was sizable for all domestic purposes. Gretchen's pallet stood
in a small alcove and the old woman's bed by the left of the fire.

Gretchen opened the door, which was unlocked. There was no light in the
hall. She pressed her lover in her arms, kissed him lightly, and pushed
him into the living-room. A log smoldered dimly on the irons. Gretchen
ran forward, turned over the log, lighted two candles, then kissed the
old woman seated in the one comfortable chair. The others were simply
three-legged stools. There was little else in the room, save a poor
reproduction of the Virgin Mary.

"Here I am, grandmother!"

"And who is here with you?" sharply but not unkindly.

"My man!" cried Gretchen gaily, her eyes bright as the candle flames.

"Bring him near me."

Gretchen gathered up two stools and placed them on either side of her
grandmother and motioned to the vintner to sit down. He did so, easily
and without visible embarrassment, even though the black eyes plunged a
glance into his.

Her hair was white and thin, her nose aquiline, her lips fallen in, a
cobweb of wrinkles round her eyes, down her cheeks, under her chin. But
her sight was undimmed.

"Where are you from? You are not a Dreiberger."

"From the north, grandmother," forcing a smile to his lips.

The reply rather gratified her.

"Your name."

"Leopold Dietrich, a vintner by trade."

"You speak like a Hanoverian or a Prussian."

"I have passed some time in both countries. I have wandered about a good
deal."

"Give me your hand."

The vintner looked surprised for a moment. Gretchen approved. So he gave
the old woman his left hand. The grandmother smoothed it out upon her
own and bent her shrewd eyes. Silence. Gretchen could hear the malter
stirring above; the log cracked and burst into flame. A frown began to
gather on the vintner's brow and a sweat in his palm.

"I see many strange things here," said the palmist, in a brooding tone.

"And what do you see?" asked Gretchen eagerly.

"I see very little of vineyards. I see riches, pomp; I see vast armies
moving against each other; there is the smell of powder and fire;
devastation. I do not see you, young man, among those who tramp with
guns on their shoulders. You ride; there is gold on your arms. You will
become great; but I do not understand. I do not understand," closing her
eyes for a moment.

The vintner sat upright, his chin truculent, his arm tense.

"War!" he murmured.

Gretchen's heart sank; there was joy in his voice.

"Go on, grandmother," she whispered.

"Shall I live?" asked the vintner, whose belief in prescience till this
hour had been of a negative quality.

"There is nothing here save death in old age, vintner." Her gnarled hand
seized his in a vise. "Do you mean well by my girl?"

"Grandmother!" Gretchen remonstrated.

"Silence!"

The vintner withdrew his hand slowly.

"Is this the hand of a liar and a cheat? Is it the hand of a dishonest
man?"

"There is no dishonesty there; but there are lines I do not understand.
Oh, I can not see everything; it is like seeing people in a mist. They
pass instantly and disappear. But I repeat, do you mean well by my
girl?"

"Before God and His angels I love her; before all mankind I would gladly
declare it. Gretchen shall never come to harm at these hands. I swear
it."

"I believe you." The old woman's form relaxed its tenseness.

"Thanks, grandmother," said Gretchen. "Now, read what my hand says."

The old woman took the hand. She loved Gretchen.

"I read that you are gentle and brave and cheerful, that you have a
loyal heart and a pure mind. I read that you are in love and that some
day you will be happy." A smile went over her face, a kind of winter
sunset.

"You are not looking at my hand at all, grandmother," said Gretchen in
reproach.

"I do not need, my child. Your life is written in your face." The
grandmother spoke again to the vintner. "So you will take her away from
me?"

"Will it be necessary?" he returned quietly. "Have you any objection to
my becoming your foster grandchild, such as Gretchen is?"

The old woman made no answer. She closed her eyes and did not open them.
Gretchen motioned that this was a sign that the interview was ended. But
as he rose to his feet there was a sound outside. A carriage had
stopped. Some one opened the door and began to climb the stairs. The
noise ceased only when the visitor reached the top landing. Then all
became still again.

"There is something strange going on up there," said Gretchen in a
whisper.

"In what way?" asked the vintner in like undertones.

"Three times a veiled lady has called at night, three times a man
muffled up so one could not see his face."

"Let us not question our twenty-crowns rent, Gretchen," interrupted the
grandmother, waking. "So long as no one is disturbed, so long as the
police are not brought to our door, it is not our affair. Leopold,
Gretchen, give me your hands." She placed them one upon the other, then
spread out her hands above their heads. "The Holy Mother bring happiness
and good luck to you, Gretchen."

"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
tin cup which hung there for the thirsty! How prettily she had wrapped a
leaf over the rusted edge of the cup! The leaf lay in his pocket. He had
kissed a dozen times the spot where her lips had pressed it. Blind
fool! Deeper and deeper; he knew that he never could go back to that
safe ledge of the heart-free. Time could not change his heart, not if
given the thousand years of the wandering Jew.

Bah! He would walk round the fountain and cool his crazy pulse. He was
Irish, Irish to the core. Would any one, save an Irishman, give way, day
after day, to those insane maunderings? His mood was savage; he was at
odds with the world, and most of all, with himself. If only some one
would come along and shoulder him rudely! He laughed ruefully. He was in
a fine mood to make an ass of himself.

He left the bench and strolled round the fountain, his cane behind his
back, his chin in his collar. He had made the circle several times, then
he blundered into some one. The fighting mood was gone now, the walk
having calmed him. He murmured a short apology for his clumsiness and
started on, without even looking at the animated obstacle.

"Just a moment, my studious friend."

"Wallenstein? I didn't see you." Carmichael halted.

"That was evident," replied the colonel jestingly. "Heavens! Have you
really cares of state, that you walk five times round this fountain,
bump into me, and start to go on without so much as a how-do-you-do?"

"I'm absent-minded," Carmichael admitted.

"Not always, my friend."

"No, not always. You have some other meaning?"

"That is possible. Now, I do not believe that it was absent-mindedness
which made you step in between me and that pretty goose-girl, the other
night."

"Ah!" Carmichael was all alertness.

"It was not, I believe?"

"It was coldly premeditated," said Carmichael, folding his arms over his
cane which he still held behind his back. His attitude and voice were
pleasant.

"It was not friendly."

"Not to you, perhaps. But that happens to be an innocent girl, Colonel.
You're no Herod. There was nothing selfish in my act. You really annoyed
her."

"Pretense; they always begin that way."

"I confess I know little about that kind of hunting, but I'm sure
you've started the wrong quarry this time."

"You are positive that you were disinterested?"

"Come, come, Colonel, this sounds like the beginning of a quarrel; and a
quarrel should never come into life between you and me. I taught you
draw-poker; you ought to be grateful for that, and to accept my word
regarding my disinterestedness."

"I do not wish any quarrel, my Captain; but that girl's face has
fascinated me. I propose to see her as often as I like."

"I have no objection to offer; but I told Gretchen that if any one, no
matter who, ever offers her disrespect, to report the matter to me at
the consulate."

"That is meddling."

"Call it what you like, my Colonel."

"Well, in case she is what you consider insulted, what will you do?" a
challenge in his tones.

"Report the matter to the police."

Wallenstein laughed.

"And if the girl finds no redress there," tranquilly, "to the
chancellor."

"You would go so far?"

"Even further," unruffled.

"It looks as though you had drawn your saber," with irony.

"Oh, I can draw it, Colonel, and when I do I guarantee you'll find no
rust on it. Come," and Carmichael held out his hand amicably, "Gretchen
is already in love with one of her kind. Let the child be in peace.
What! Is not the new ballerina enough conquest? They are all talking
about it."

"Good night, Herr Carmichael!" The colonel, ignoring the friendly hand,
saluted stiffly, wheeled abruptly, and left Carmichael staring rather
stupidly at his empty hand.

"Well, I'm hanged! All right," with a tilt of the shoulders. "One enemy
more or less doesn't matter. I'm not afraid of anything save this fool
heart of mine. If he says an ill word to Gretchen, and I hear of it,
I'll cane the blackguard, for that's what he is at bottom. Well, I was
looking for trouble, and here it is, sure enough."

He saw a carriage coming along. He recognized the white horse as it
passed the lamps. He stood still for a space, undecided. Then he sped
rapidly toward the side gates of the royal gardens. The vehicle stopped
there. But this time no woman came out. Carmichael would have recognized
that lank form anywhere. It was the chancellor. Well, what of it?
Couldn't the chancellor go out in a common hack if he wanted to? But who
was the lady in the veil?

"I've an idea!"

As soon as the chancellor disappeared, Carmichael hailed the coachman.

"Drive me through the gardens."

"It is too late, Herr."

"Well, drive me up and down the Strasse while I finish this cigar."

"Two crowns."

"Three, if your horse behaves well."

"He's as gentle as a lamb, Herr."

"And doubtless will be served as one before long. Can't you throw back
the top?"

"In one minute!" Five crowns and three made eight crowns; not a bad
business these dull times.

Carmichael lolled in the worn cushions, wondering whether or not to
question his man. But it was so unusual for a person of such particular
habits as the chancellor to ride in an ordinary carriage. Carmichael
slid over to the forward seat and touched the jehu on the back.

"Where did you take the chancellor to-night?" he asked.

"_Du lieber Gott!_ Was that his excellency? He said he was the chief
steward."

"So he is, my friend. I was only jesting. Where did you take him?"

"I took him to the Krumerweg. He was there half an hour. Number forty."

"Where did you take the veiled lady?"

The coachman drew in suddenly and apprehensively. "Herr, are you from
the police?"

"Thousand thunders, no! It was by accident that I stood near the gate
when she got out. Who was she?"

"That is better. They both told me that they were giving charity. I did
not see the lady's face, but she went into number forty, the same as the
steward. You won't forget the extra crown, Herr?"

"No; I'll make it five. Turn back and leave me at the Grand Hotel."
Then he muttered: "Krumerweg, crooked way, number forty. If I see this
old side-paddler stopping at the palace steps again, I'll take a look at
number forty myself."

On the return to the hotel the station omnibus had arrived with a
solitary guest. A steamer trunk and a couple of bags were being trundled
in by the porter, while the concierge was helping a short, stocky man to
the ground. He hurried into the hotel, signed the police slips, and
asked for his room. He seemed to be afraid of the dark. He was gone when
Carmichael went into the office.

"Your Excellency," said the concierge, rubbing his hands and smiling
after the manner of concierges born in Switzerland, "a compatriot of
yours arrived this evening."

"What name?" indifferently. Compatriots were always asking impossible
things of Carmichael, introductions to the grand duke, invitations to
balls, and so forth, and swearing to have him recalled if he refused to
perform these offices.

The concierge picked up the slips which were to be forwarded to the
police.

"He is Hans Grumbach, of New York."

"An adopted compatriot, it would seem. He'll probably be over to the
consulate to-morrow to have his passports looked into. Good night."

So Hans Grumbach passed out of his mind; but for all that, fortune and
opportunity were about to knock on Carmichael's door. For there was a
great place in history ready for Hans Grumbach.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Ani keeps riding, but she's not sure if she's even going in a straight path--all the forest looks the same to her, and she's on a horse she doesn't know as well. Later she wakes up with fir needles all around her, unsure of where she is and what's happened. She realizes Falada's not with her, and longs for him. She also wishes she had something to eat--she's starving and has never missed a meal before. Lost and alone, she starts out on foot, even though she's not sure which direction to head. Ani decides to follow the stream of water she sees, and then she sees some owls and swans, so she decides to ask them for directions. Finally she reaches a house with apples, oranges, and carrots growing in the yard. A woman named Gilsa appears from the house, and asks Ani who she is and why she's here--but before Ani can even answer, she faints from thirst and hunger, right there on the doorstep. Finn, Gilsa's son, carries Ani inside and lets her rest for a while before the woman asks her again about what kind of trouble she's in. Ani isn't really sure how to answer. How do you tell someone that you're actually a princess and your people betrayed you in the forest? Ani starts small and asks if she can go with Finn to market, where he sells stuff his mom grows and makes--it sounds like a big farmer's market, where people from the forest go and sell stuff to the Bayern folk. Gilsa agrees to let Ani stay there for the next eight days until market week, and Ani tries not to be a burden, though she's not really sure how to do anything, having spent her whole life as a princess with servants. One night Ani notices the hens are all on edge and figures out they are telling each other there is a rat under the floorboard--and sure enough, when Ani tells Gilsa, they find a rat right there. Gilsa's not really sure how Ani knew about the rodent, but she's amazed all the same. The night before they head to the market, Ani helps Finn and Gilsa wrap up all the sweaters Gilsa made, and pack up their stuff. Gilsa tells her that language is in everything--all of us talk to a bird, a goat, and a dog every now and again.


prompt:
Chapter: The day promised to be mild. There was not a cloud anywhere, and the
morning mists had risen from the valleys. It was good to stand in the
sunshine which seemed to draw forth all the vagaries and weariness of
sleep from the mind and body. Hans Grumbach shook himself gratefully. He
was standing on the curb in front of the Grand Hotel, his back to the
sun. It was nine o'clock. The broad Koenig Strasse shone, the white stone
of the palaces glared, the fountains glistened, and the coloring tree
tops scintillated like the head-dress of an Indian prince. Hans was
short but strongly built; a mild blue-eyed German, smooth-faced,
ruddy-cheeked, white-haired, with a brown button of a nose. He drank his
beer with the best of them, but it never got so far as his nose save
from the outside. His suit was tight-fitting, but the checks were
ample, and the watch-chain a little too heavy, and the huge garnet on
his third finger was not in good taste. But what's the odds? Grumbach
was satisfied, and it's one's own satisfaction that counts most.

Presently two police officers came along and went into the hotel.
Grumbach turned with a sigh and followed them. Doubtless they had come
to look over his passports. And this happened to be the case.

The senior officer unfolded the precious document.

"It is not yet viseed by your consul," said the officer.

"I arrived late last night. I shall see him this morning," replied
Grumbach.

"You were not born in America?"

"Oh, no; I came from Bavaria."

"At what age?"

"I was twenty."

"Did you go to America with your parents?"

"No. I was alone."

"You still have your permit to leave Bavaria?"

"I believe so; I am not certain. I never thought in those days I should
become rich enough to travel."

The word that tingled with gold soothed the suspicious ear of the
officer.

"What is your business in America?"

"I am a plumber, now retired."

"And your business here?"

"Simply pleasure."

"You are forty?" said the officer, referring to the passports.

"Yes."

"This is rather young to retire from business."

"Not in America," easily.

"True, everybody grows rich there, with gold mines popping open at one's
feet. It must be a great country." The officer sighed as he refolded the
documents. "As soon as these are approved by his excellency the American
consul, kindly have a porter bring them over to the bureau of police. It
will be only a matter of form. I shall return them at once."

Grumbach produced a Louis Napoleon which was then as now acceptable that
side of the Rhine. It was not done with pomposity, but rather with the
exuberance of a man whose purse and letter of credit possess an assuring
circumference.

"Drink a bottle, you and your comrade," he said.

This the officer promised to do forthwith. He returned the passports,
put a hand to his cap respectfully and, followed by his assistant,
walked off briskly.

Grumbach took off his derby and wiped the perspiration from his
forehead. This moisture had not been wrung forth by any atmospheric
effect. From the top of his forehead to the cowlick on the back of his
head ran a broad white scar. At one time or another Grumbach had been on
the ragged edge of the long journey. He went out of doors. There is
nothing like sunshine to tonic the ebbing courage.

Coming up the thoroughfare, with a dash of spirit and color, was a small
troop of horses. The sunlight broke upon the steel and silver. A waiter,
cleaning off the little iron tables on the sidewalk, paused. The riders
passed, all but two in splendid uniforms. Grumbach watched them till
they disappeared into the palace courtyard. He called to the waiter.

"Who are they?"

"The grand duke and some of his staff, Herr."

"The grand duke? Who was the gentleman in civilian clothes?"

"That was his excellency, Herr Carmichael, the American consul."

"Very good. And the young lady?"

"Her serene highness, the Princess Hildegarde."

"Bring me a glass of beer," said Grumbach, sinking down at a table. A
thousand questions surged against his lips, but he kept them shut with
all the stolidity of his native blood. When the waiter set the beer down
before him, he said: "Where does Herr Carmichael live?"

"The consulate is in the Adlergasse. He himself lives here at the Grand
Hotel. _Ach_! He is a great man, Herr Carmichael."

"So?"

"A friend of the grand duke, a friend of her serene highness, liked
everywhere, a fine shot and a great fencer, and rides a horse as if he
were sewn to the saddle. And all the ladies admire him because he
dances."

"So he dances? Quite a lady's man." To Grumbach a man who danced was a
lady's man, something to be held in contempt.

"You would not call him a lady's man, if you mean he wastes his time on
them."

"But you say he dances?"

"_Ach, Gott!_ Don't we all dance to some tune or other?" cried the
waiter philosophically.

"You are right; different music, different jigs. Take the coppers."

"Thanks, Herr." The waiter continued his work.

So Herr Carmichael lived here. That would be convenient. Grumbach
decided to wait for him. He had seen enough of men to know if he could
trust the consul. He glared at the amber-gold in the glass, took a
vigorous swallow, and smacked his lips. A sentimental old fool; he was
neither more nor less.

The wait for Carmichael was short. The American consul came along with
energetic stride. He had been to the earlier maneuvers, and aside from
coffee and bacon he had had no breakfast. The ride and the cold air of
morning had made him ravenous. Grumbach rose and caught Carmichael by
the arm.

"Your pardon, sir," he said in good English, "but you are Mr.
Carmichael, the American consul?"

"I am."

"Will you kindly look over my papers?" Grumbach asked.

"You are from the United States?" Then Carmichael remembered that this
must be the compatriot who arrived the night before. "I shall be very
glad to see you in the Adlergasse at half after ten. It is one flight
up, next door to the Black Eagle. Any one will show you the way. I
haven't breakfasted yet, and I can not transact any business in these
dusty clothes. Good morning."

Grumbach liked the consul's smile. More than that, he recognized
instantly that this handsome young man was a gentleman. The inherent
respect for caste had not been beaten out of Grumbach's blood; he had
come from a brood in a peasant's hovel. To him the word gentleman would
always signify birth and good clothes; what the heart and mind were did
not matter much.

He had more than an hour to idle away, so he wandered through the park,
admiring the freshness of the green, the well-kept flower-beds, the
crisp hedges, and the clean graveled paths. There was nothing like it
back there in America. They hadn't the time there; everybody was in the
market, speculating in bubbles. He admired the snowy fountains, too, and
the doves that darted in and out of the wind-blown spray. There was
nothing like this in America, either. He was not belittling; he was only
making comparisons. He knew that he would be far happier in his adopted
country, which would accomplish all these beautiful things farther on.

He looked up heavenward, where the three bergs shouldered the dazzling
snow into the blue. This impressed him more than all else; that little
wrinkle in the middle berg's ice had been there when he was a boy.
Nothing had changed in Dreiberg save the Koenig Strasse, whose cobbles
had been replaced by smooth blocks of wood. At times he sent swift but
uncertain glances toward the palaces. He longed to peer through the
great iron fence, but he smothered this desire. He would find out what
he wanted to know when he met Carmichael at the consulate. Here the bell
in the cathedral struck the tenth hour; not a semitone had this voice of
bronze changed in all these years. It was good to be here in Dreiberg
again. Should he ask the way to the Adlergasse? Perhaps this would be
wiser. So he put the question to a policeman. The officer politely gave
him a detailed route.

"Follow these directions and you will have no trouble in finding the
Adlergasse."

"Much obliged."

Trouble? Scarcely! He had put out his first protest against the world in
the Adlergasse, forty years since. He came to a stand before the old
tavern. Not even the sign had been painted anew, though the oak board
was a trifle paler and there was a little more rust on the hinges. Many
a time he had fought with the various pot-boys. He wondered if there
were any pot-boys inside now. He noted the dingy consulate sign, then
started up the dark and narrow stairs. The consulate door stood open.

A clerk, native to Ehrenstein, was writing at a table. At a desk by the
window sat Carmichael, deep in a volume of Dumas. No one ever hurried
here; no one ever had palpitation of the heart over business. The clerk
lifted his head.

"Mr. Carmichael?" said Grumbach in English.

The clerk indicated with his pen toward the individual by the window.
Carmichael read on. Grumbach had assimilated some Americanisms. He went
boldly over and seated himself in the chair at the side of the desk.
With a sigh Carmichael left Porthos in the grotto of Locmaria.

"I am Mr. Grumbach. I spoke to you this morning about my passports. Will
you kindly look them over?"

Carmichael took the papers, frowning slightly. Grumbach laid his derby
on his knees. The consul went over the papers, viseed them, and handed
them to their owner.

"You will have no trouble going about with those," Carmichael said
listlessly. "How long will you be in Dreiberg?"

"I do not know," said Grumbach truthfully.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"There is only one thing," answered Grumbach, "but you may object, and
I shall not blame you if you do. It will be a great favor."

"What do you wish?" more listlessly.

"An invitation to the military ball at the palace, after the maneuvers,"
quietly.

Carmichael sat up. He had not expected so large an order as this.

"I am afraid you are asking something impossible for me to obtain," he
replied coldly, thumbing the leaves of his book.

"Ah, Mr. Carmichael, it is very important that I should be there."

"Explain."

"I can give you no explanations. I wish to attend this ball. I do not
care to meet the grand duke or any one else. Put me in the gallery where
I shall not be noticed. That is all I ask of you."

"That might be done. But you have roused my curiosity. Your request is
out of the ordinary. You have some purpose?"

"A perfectly harmless one," said Grumbach, mopping his forehead.

This movement brought Carmichael's eye to the scar. Grumbach
acknowledged the stare by running his finger along the subject.

"I came near passing in my checks the day I got that," he volunteered.
"Everybody looks at it when I take off my hat. I've tried tonics, but
the hair won't grow there."

"Where did you get it?"

"At Gettysburg."

"Gettysburg?" with a lively facial change. "You were in the war?"

"All through it."

Carmichael was no longer indifferent. He gave his hand.

"I've got a few scars myself. What regiment?"

"The --th cavalry, New York."

"What troop?" with growing excitement.

"C troop."

"I was captain of B troop in the same regiment. Hurrah! Work's over for
the day. Come along with me, Grumbach, and we'll talk it over
down-stairs in the Black Eagle. You're a godsend. C troop! Hanged if the
world doesn't move things about oddly. I was in the hospital myself
after Gettysburg; a ball in the leg. And I've rheumatism even now when
a damp spell comes."

So down to the tavern they went, and there they talked the battles over,
sundry tankards interpolating. It was "Do you remember this?" and, "Do
you recall that?" with diagrams drawn in beer on the oaken table.

"But there's one thing, my boy," said Carmichael.

"What's that?"

"The odds were on our side, or we'd be fighting yet."

"That we would. The poor devils were always hungry when we whipped them
badly."

"But you're from this side of the water?"

"Yes; went over when I was twenty-two." Grumbach sucked his pipe
stolidly.

"What part of Germany?"

"Bavaria; it is so written in my passports."

"Munich?"

Grumbach circled the room. All the near tables were vacant. The Black
Eagle was generally a lonely place till late in the afternoon. Grumbach
touched the scar tenderly. Could he trust this man? Could he trust any
one in the world? The impulse came to trust Carmichael, and he did not
disregard it.

"I was born in this very street," he whispered.

"Here?"

"Sh! Not so loud! Yes, in this very street. But if the police knew, I
wouldn't be worth _that!_"--with a snap of the fingers. "My passports,
my American citizenship, they would be worthless. You know that."

"But what does this all mean? What have you done that you can't come
back here openly?" Here was a mystery. This man with the kindly face and
frank eyes could be no ordinary criminal. "Can I help you in any way?"

"No; no one can help me."

"But why did you come back? You were safe enough in New York."

"Who can say what a man will do? Don't question me. Let be. I have said
too much already. Some day perhaps I shall tell you why. When I went
away I was thin and pale and had yellow hair. To-day I am fat,
gray-headed; I have made money. Who will recognize me now? No one."

"But your name?"

Grumbach laughed unmusically. "Grumbach is as good as another. Listen.
You are my comrade now; we have shed our blood on the same field. There
is no tie stronger than that. When I left Dreiberg there was a reward of
a thousand crowns for me. Dead or alive, preferably dead."

Carmichael was plainly bewildered. He tried to recall the past history
of Ehrenstein which would offer a niche for this inoffensive-looking
German. He was blocked.

"Dead or alive," he repeated.

"So."

"You were mad to return."

"I know it. But I had to come; I couldn't help it. Oh, don't look like
that! I never hurt anybody, unless it was in battle"--naively. "Ask no
more, my friend. I promise to tell you when the right time comes. Now,
will you get me that invitation to the gallery at the military ball?"

"I will, if you will give me your word, as a soldier, as a comrade in
arms, that you have no other purpose than to look at the people."

"As God is my judge"--solemnly--"that is all I wish to do. Now, what
has happened since I went away? I have dared to ask questions of no
one."

Carmichael gave him a brief summary of events, principal among which was
the amazing restoration of the Princess Hildegarde. When he had
finished, Grumbach remained dumb and motionless for a time.

"And what is her serene highness like?"

To describe the Princess Hildegarde was not only an easy task, but a
pleasant one to Carmichael, and if he embroidered this description here
and there, Grumbach was too deeply concerned with the essential points
to notice these variations in the theme.

"So she is gentle and beautiful? Why not? _Ach_! You should have seen
her mother. She was the most beautiful woman in all Germany, and she
sang like one of those Italian nightingales. I recall her when I was a
boy. I would gladly have died at a word from her. All loved her. The
king of Jugendheit wanted her, but she loved the grand duke. So the
Princess Hildegarde has come back to her own? God is good!" And
Grumbach bent his head reverently.

"Well," said Carmichael, beckoning to the waitress, and paying the
score, "if any trouble rises, send for me. You don't look like a man who
has done anything very bad." He offered his hand again.

Grumbach pressed it firmly, and there was a moisture in his eyes.

Together they returned to the Grand Hotel for lunch. On the way neither
talked very much. They were both thinking of the same thing, but from
avenues diametrically opposed. Grumbach declined Carmichael's invitation
to lunch, and immediately sought his own room.

Once there, he closed the shutters so as to admit but half the day's
light, and opened his battered trunk. From the false bottom, which had
successfully eluded the vigilance of a dozen frontiers, he took out a
small bundle. This he opened carefully, his eyes blurring. Mad fool that
he had been! How many times had he gazed at these trinkets in these
sixteen or more years? How often had he uttered lamentations over them?
How many times had the talons of remorse gashed his heart?

Two little yellow shoes, so small that they lay on his palm as lightly
as two butterflies; a little cloak trimmed with ermine; a golden locket
shaped like a heart!

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The morning Ani is to leave for the market, she gives Gilsa her gold ring as a thank-you for letting her stay, but Gilsa doesn't take it, and instead she tells Ani to hang on to it in case she needs it later on. She says good-bye to Gilsa. Ani and Finn meet up with some other market sellers from the forest along the way, but they're not sure they like a new person riding with them. Finn--with a little help from his mom's cake--convinces them it's okay to have Ani along with them. Ani introduces herself as Isi and Finn goes along with it. Everyone settles down and they all ride to the market together, telling each other stories as they go along. When they get to Bayern, Ani catches a glimpse of Yulan by the city wall. He's watching and waiting... for her to come into the city. She averts her eyes so he doesn't catch her, but she feels nervous all the same, since his presence means they're looking for her, and not done with her yet. Gulp. Ani learns from the others that on market day people can line up to see the king, and she decides this is how she'll get into the palace. She'll have to figure out the rest once she gets there. She starts to feel a little grumpy about her situation--after all, she's a princess, so she shouldn't have to take charity from market people--but she's not sure what else to do. Ani lines up to see the king the next day, and she waits a long time for her turn. Just as she gets to the king's chamber though, she sees Selia in the palace.


prompt:
Chapter: Grumbach was very fond of music, and in America there were never any
bands except at political meetings or at the head of processions; and
that wasn't the sort of music he preferred. There was nothing at the
Opera, so he decided to spend the earlier part of the evening in the
public gardens. He was lonely; he had always been lonely. Men who carry
depressing secrets generally are. He searched covertly among the many
faces for one that was familiar, but he saw none; and he was at once
glad, and sorry. Yes, there was one face; the rubicund countenance of
the bandmaster. It was older, more wrinkled, but it was the same. How
many years had the old fellow swung the baton? At least thirty years. In
his boyhood days Grumbach had put that brilliant uniform side by side
with the grand duke's. As it was impossible for him ever to become a
duke, his ambition had been to arrive at the next greatest thing--the
bandmaster. As he neared the pavilion he laughed silently and grimly. To
have grown wealthy as a master plumber instead! So much for ambition!

Subsequently he found himself standing beside a young vintner and his
peasant sweetheart. Their hands secretly met and locked behind their
backs. Grumbach sighed. Never would he know aught of this double love.
This Eden would never have any gate for him to push aside. He would
always go his way alone.

The girl turned her head. Seeing Grumbach, she loosened the vintner's
hand.

"Do not mind me, girl," said Grumbach, his face broadening.

The girl laughed easily and without confusion. Her companion, however,
flushed under his tan, and a scowl ran over his forehead.

The band struck up, and the little comedy was forgotten. But Grumbach
could not see anything except the girl's face, the fresh, exquisite turn
of her profile. Once his eye wandered rather guiltily. Her figure was in
keeping with her face. Then he saw the little wooden shoes. Ah, well,
as long as kings surrounded themselves with armies and with pomp, there
would always be wooden shoes. The band was playing _Les Huguenots_, and
the girl hummed the air.

"Do not go there to-night, Gretchen," said the vintner.

"It is a crown."

"I will give you two if you will not go," the vintner urged.

"Foolish boy, what good would that do? We need every crown we have or
can get, if we are to be married soon. And you have not gone to work
yet. And every day costs you a crown to live, and more, for all I know.
You spend a crown as carelessly as if all you had to do was to pick them
off the vines. Crowns are hard to get."

"When one is happy, one does not stop to bother about crowns," he said
impatiently.

"But will such happiness last? Shall we not be happier as our crowns
accumulate, to ward off sickness and hunger? Must I teach you economy?"

"I shall apply for work to-morrow and waste no more crowns, my heart."
The vintner's hand again sought hers, and he sent Grumbach a look which
said: "Smile if you dare!"

But Grumbach did not smile. He was too sad. He fell into a dream, and
the music faded in his ear and the lights of the pavilion grew dim. He
was a boy again, and he was carrying posies to the pretty little
fraeulein in the Adlergasse. Dreams never last, and sometimes they are
rudely interrupted.

A hand was put upon his shoulder authoritatively. The police officer who
had examined his passports that morning stood at Grumbach's elbow.

"Herr Grumbach," he said quietly, "his excellency the chancellor has
directed me to bring you at once to the palace."

"To the palace?" Grumbach's face was expressive of great astonishment.
The officer saw nothing out of the ordinary in this expression. Any
foreigner would have been seized with confusion under like
circumstances. "To the palace?" Grumbach repeated. "My passports were
wrong in some respect?"

"Oh, no, Herr; they were correct."

Grumbach roused his mind energetically. He forced down the fast beating
of his heart, banished the astonishment from his face, and even brought
a smile to his lips.

"But whatever can the chancellor want of me?"

"That is not my business. I was simply sent to find you. His excellency
is always interested in German-Americans. It may be that he wishes to
ask what the future is there in America. We have more in Dreiberg than
we can reasonably take care of."

"In the prisons?"

The officer laughed. "There and elsewhere."

"Is that right?" asked Grumbach, now thoroughly on guard.

"It may not be right to ship our criminals over there, but it is
considered very good politics."

"Shall we go at once? I never expected to enter the palace of the grand
duke of Ehrenstein," Grumbach added. "It will be something to tell of
when I go back to America."

The only thing that reassured him was the presence of one officer. When
they came for a man on a serious charge, in Ehrenstein, they came in
pairs or fours. So then, there could be pending nothing vital to his
liberty or his incognito. Besides, his papers were all right, and now
there would be Carmichael to fall back on.

"The palace is lighted up," was Grumbach's comment as the two passed the
sentry outside the gates.

"The duke gives the dinner to the diplomatic corps to-night."

"A fine thing to be a diplomat."

"I myself prefer fighting in the open. Diplomats? Their very precious
hides are never anywhere near the wars they bring about. No, no; this
way. We go in at the side."

"You'll have to guide me. Yes, these diplomats. Men like you and me do
all the work. I was in the Civil War in America."

"That was a great fight," remarked the officer. "I should like to have
been there."

"Four years; pretty long. Do you know Herr Carmichael?"

"The American consul? Oh, yes."

"He and I fought in the same regiment."

"Then you saw some pretty battles."

Grumbach took off his hat. "See that?"

"_Gott_! That must have been an ugly one."

"Almost crossed over when I got it. Is this the door?"

"Yes. I'll put you in snugly. You will probably have to wait for his
excellency. But you'll have me for company till he appears."

Grumbach entered the palace with a brave heart and a steady mind.

       *       *       *       *       *

The grand duke had a warm place in his heart for the diplomatic corps.
He liked to see them gathered round his table, their uniforms glittering
with orders and decorations. It was always a night of wits; and he
sprang a hundred traps for comedy's sake, but these astonishing
linguists seldom if ever blundered into one of them. They were eternally
vigilant. It was no trifling matter to swing the thought from German
into French or Italian or Hungarian; but they were seasoned veterans in
the game, all save Carmichael, who spoke only French and German
fluently. The duke, however, never tried needlessly to embarrass him. He
admired Carmichael's mental agility. Never he thrust so keenly that the
American was found lacking in an effective though simple parry.

"Your highness must recollect that I am not familiar with that tongue."

"Pardon me, Herr Captain!"

But there was always a twinkle in the ducal eye and an answering smile
in the consul's.

The somber black of Carmichael's evening dress stood out conspicuously
among the blue and green and red uniforms. Etiquette compelled him to
wear silk stockings, but that was the single concession on his part. He
wore no orders. An order of the third or fourth class held no
allurement. Nothing less than the Golden Fleece would have interested
him, and the grand duke himself could not boast of this rare and
distinguished order. In truth, Carmichael coveted nothing but a medal
for valor, and his own country had not yet come to recognize the
usefulness of such a distinction.

All round him sat ministers or ambassadors; he alone represented a
consulate. So his place at the table was honorary rather than
diplomatic. It was his lively humorous personality the grand duke
admired, not his representations.

The duke sat at the head of the table and her serene highness at the
foot; and it was by the force of his brilliant wit that the princess did
not hold in perpetuity the court at her end of the table. For a German
princess of that time she was highly accomplished; she was ardent,
whimsical, with a flashing mentality which rounded out and perfected her
physical loveliness. Above and beyond all this, she had suffered, she
had felt the pangs of poverty, the smart of unrecognized merit; she had
been one of the people, and her sympathies would always be with them,
for she knew what those about her only vaguely knew, the patience, the
unmurmuring bravery of the poor. Never would she become sated with power
so long as it gave her the right to aid the people. Never a new tax was
levied that she did not lighten it in some manner; never an oppressive
law was promulgated that she did not soften its severity. And so the
populace loved her, for it did not take the people long to find out what
she was trying to do for them. And perhaps they loved her because she
had lived the greater part of her young life as one of them.

To-night there was love in the duke's eyes as he looked down the table's
length; there was love in the old chancellor's eyes, too; and in
Carmichael's. And there was love in her eyes as she gazed back at the
two old men. But who could read her eyes whenever they roved in
Carmichael's direction? Not even Gretchen's grandmother, who lived in
the Krumerweg.

"Gentlemen," said the duke, rising and holding up his glass, "this night
I give you a toast which I believe will be agreeable to all of you,
especially to his excellency, Baron von Steinbock of Jugendheit. What is
past is past; a new regime begins this night." He paused. All eyes were
focused upon him in wonder. Only Baron von Steinbock displayed no more
than ordinary interest. "I give you," resumed the duke, "her serene
highness and his majesty, Frederick of Jugendheit!"

The princess grew delicately pale as the men and women sprang to their
feet. Every hand swept toward her, holding a glass. She had surrendered
that morning. Not because she wished to be a queen, not because she
cared to bring about an alliance between the two countries; no, it was
because she was afraid and had burned the bridge behind her.

The tan thinned on Carmichael's face, but his hand was steady. Never
would he forget the tableau. She sat still in her chair, her lids
drooped, but a proud lift to her chin. The collar of pearls round her
neck had scarce more luster than her shoulders. How red her lips seemed
against the whiteness of her skin! Beautiful to him beyond all dreams of
beauty. God send another war and let him die in the heart of it,
fighting! To dream lies as he had done this twelvemonth, to break his
heart over the moon! He sat his glass down untouched, happily
unobserved. He was in misery; he wanted to be alone.

"Long live her majesty!" thundered the chancellor. He, too, was pale,
but the fire of great things burned in his eyes and his lank form took
upon itself a transient majesty.

In the ball-room the princess was surrounded; everybody flattered her;
congratulated her, and complimented her. All agreed that it was a great
political stroke. And indeed it was, but none of them knew how great.

Carmichael was among the last to approach her. By this time he had his
voice and nerves under control. Without apparent volition they walked
down the stairs which led to the conservatory.

"I thought perhaps you had forgotten me," she said.

[Illustration: "I thought you had forgotten me," she said.]

"Forget your highness? Do not give me credit for such an impossibility."
He bowed over her hand and brushed it with his lips, for she was almost
royal now. "Your highness will be happy. It is written." He stepped back
slowly.

"Have you the gift of prescience?"

"In this instance. You will be a great queen."

"Who knows?" dreamily. "When I recall what I have gone through, all this
seems like an enchantment out of a fairy-book, and that I must soon wake
up in my garret in Dresden."

If only it might be an enchantment! he thought. If only he might find
her as the grim old chancellor had found her, in a garret! What?

"Why did you do that?" she asked quickly.

"I do not understand."

"You shrugged."

"I beg your highness' pardon!" flushing. "I was not conscious of such
rudeness."

"That is not answering my question."

"I beg of your highness--"

"My highness commands!" But her voice was gentle.

"It was a momentary dream I had; and the thought of its utter
impossibility caused me to shrug. I assure your highness that it was a
philosophical shrug, such as the Stoics were wont to indulge in." He
spoke lightly. Only his eyes were serious.

"And this dream; was there not a woman in it?"

"Oh, no; there was only an angel."

She knew that it was not proper to question him in this manner; but
neither her heart nor her mind were formal to-night.

"You interest me; you always interest me. You have seen so many
wonderful things. And now it is angels."

"Only one, your Highness." This was daring. "But perhaps I am putting
my foot where angels fear to tread," which was still more daring.

"Angels ought not to be afraid of anything." She laughed; there was a
pain and a joy in the sound of it. She read his heart as one might read
a written line.

"Dreams are always unfinished things," he said, getting back on safer
ground.

"What is she like, this angel?" forcing him upon dangerous ground again
wilfully.

"Who may describe an angel one has seen only in a golden dream?"

"You will not tell me?"

"I dare not!" His eyes sought hers unflinchingly. This moment he was
mad, and had not the chancellor and Baron von Steinbock came up, Heaven
only knew what further madness would have unbridled his tongue.

"Your Highness," began the benign voice of the chancellor, "the baron
desires, in the name of his august master, to open the ball with you.
Behold my fairy-wand," gaily. "This night I have made you a queen."

"Can you make me happy also?" said she, so low that only the chancellor
heard her.

"I shall try. Ah, Herr Captain," with a friendly jerk of his head
toward Carmichael; "will you do me the honor to join me in my cabinet,
quarter of an hour hence?"

"I shall be there, your Excellency." Carmichael was uneasy. He was not
certain how much the chancellor had heard.

"A little diplomatic business in which I shall need your assistance,"
supplemented the chancellor.

Carmichael, instead of loitering uselessly in the ball-room, at once
sought the chancellor's cabinet. He wanted to be alone. He made known
his business to the chancellor's valet who admitted him. He stopped just
across the threshold. To his surprise the room was already tenanted.
Grumbach and a police officer!

"Why, Grumbach, what are you doing here?" cried Carmichael.

"Waiting for his excellency. We have been here something past an hour."

"What's the trouble?" Carmichael inquired.

"Your excellency knows as much as I do," said the officer, who was in
fact no less than the sub-chief of the bureau.

"And I am in the dark, also," said Grumbach, twirling his hat.

Carmichael walked about, studying the many curios. Occasionally Grumbach
wiped his forehead, and, absently, the inner rim of his hat. Perhaps the
three of them waited twenty minutes; then the chancellor came in. He
bowed cordially and drew chairs about his desk. He placed Grumbach in
the full glare of the lamp. Carmichael and the sub-chief were in the
half-light. The chancellor was last to seat himself.

"Herr Grumbach," said the chancellor in a mild tone, "I should like to
see your papers."

"My passports, your Excellency?"

"Yes."

Grumbach laid them on the desk imperturbably. The chancellor struck the
bell. His valet answered immediately.

"Send Breunner, the head gardener, at once."

"He is in the anteroom, Excellency."

"Tell him to come in."

The chancellor shot a piercing glance at Grumbach, but the latter was
studying the mural decorations.

Carmichael sat tight in his chair, curious to learn what it was all
about. Breunner entered. He was thin and partly bald and quite fifty.

"Breunner, her highness will need many flowers to-morrow. See to it that
they are cut in the morning."

"It shall be done, Excellency."

The chancellor turned to the passports.

"There is only one question, Herr Grumbach. It says here that you were a
native of Bavaria before going to America. How long ago did you leave
Bavaria?"

"A good many years, your Excellency." Grumbach inspected the label in
his hat.

"You have, of course, retained your Bavarian passport?"

Carmichael was now leaning forward in his chair, deeply interested. He
saw that the chancellor was watching Grumbach as a cat watches a
mouse-hole.

Grumbach brought forth a bulky wallet. The edges of Bank of England
notes could be seen, of fat denominations.

"Here it is, your Excellency; a little ragged, but readable still."

The chancellor went over it carefully.

"Herr Captain, do you know this compatriot?"

"We fought side by side in the American war. I saw no irregularity in
his papers. I am rather astonished to see him here and not at the police
bureau, if any question has arisen over his passports."

"Fought side by side," the chancellor repeated thoughtfully. "Then he is
no stranger to you?"

"I do not say that. We were, however, in the same cavalry, only in
different troops. Grumbach, you have your honorable discharge with you?"

Grumbach went into his wallet still again. This document the chancellor
read with an interest foreign to the affair under his hand. Presently he
laughed softly. Why, he could not readily have told.

"I am sorry, Herr Grumbach. All this unnecessary trouble simply because
of the word Bavaria."

"No trouble at all, your Excellency," restoring his papers. "I have seen
the inside of a real palace, and I never expected such an honor."

"How long will you be making your visit?"

"Only a few days, your Excellency. Then I shall proceed to Bavaria."

"Your excellency has no further orders?" said the head gardener
patiently.

"Good Heaven, Breunner, I had forgotten all about you! There is nothing
more. Gentlemen, your pardon for having detained you so long. Herr
Captain, you will return with me to the ball-room?"

"If your excellency will excuse me, no. I am tired. I shall return to
the hotel with Herr Grumbach."

"As you please. Good night."

The three left the cabinet under various emotions. The sub-chief bowed
himself off at the gates, and Carmichael and Grumbach crossed the Platz
leisurely.

"How did you come by that Bavarian passport?" asked Carmichael abruptly.

"It is a forgery, my friend, but his excellency will never find that
out."

"You have me all at sea. Why did he bring in the head gardener and leave
him standing there all that while?"

"He had a sound purpose, but it fell. The head gardener did not
recognize me."

"Do you know him?"

"Yes. He is my elder brother."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Ani gets what's happening: Selia is in the palace... in her dress... living her life. She's annoyed, but Ani also knows she won't be taken seriously if she strolls up claiming to be the princess--plus Selia has the gift of people-speaking, so she'd easily be able to convince the king she's the real princess. Ugh. Ani notices that Selia's light hair stands out amongst all the dark heads in Bayern, just like Ani's--perhaps she should cover her hair so she's not so noticeable as a foreigner, or else someone might suspect her as a Kildenrean. When she finally gets to the king, she's not sure what to say, so she asks if he needs anyone in his stables, telling him that she's good with animals and can work hard. Her hope is to buy herself a bit of time to figure out her next move. But no dice--the stable is full. How about geese, though? The goose-boy has a gaggle of fifty and could use some help. Sold. Ani agrees to work as a goose-girl for the king. Then she realizes the prime minister of Bayern met her as a kid, so she asks the king if she can speak with the PM--but when she gets there, it's a different guy than she remembers. Darn. It's off to the geese for now, since she doesn't have any other options. Ani is given a tunic to wear, and shown some quarters where she'll take her meals and sleep--it's not much, but at least she's got somewhere to hang. Ani wanders down to the market to tell Finn the good news--she's got a job looking after the king's geese. He's excited for her, but then Ani warns Finn not to tell anyone about her, even if they claim to be her friend--she's worried the other guards will catch up to her and kill her. They say their goodbyes and Ani buys thornroot from an old woman at the market so she can darken her hair and blend in. Ani goes to sleep on a lumpy bed in her little hut.


prompt:
Chapter: The ambassador from Jugendheit, Baron von Steinbock, was not popular in
Dreiberg, at least not among the people, who still held to the grand
duke's idea that the kingdom had been behind the abduction of the
Princess Hildegarde. The citizens scowled at his carriage, they scowled
at the mention of his name, they scowled whenever they passed the
embassy, which stood in the heart of the fashionable residences in the
Koenig Strasse. Never a hot-headed Dreiberger passed the house without a
desire to loot it, to scale the piked fence and batter in the doors and
windows. Steinbock himself was a polished, amiable gentleman, in no wise
meriting this ill-feeling. The embassy was in all manner the most
important in Dreiberg, though Prussia and Austria overshadowed it in
wealth and prestige.

At this moment the people gazed at the house less in rancor than in
astonishment. The king of Jugendheit was to marry her serene highness!
It was a bad business, a bad business; no good would come of it. The
great duke was a weak man, after all.

The menials in and about the embassy felt the new importance of their
positions. So then, imagine the indignation of the majordomo, when,
summoned at dusk one evening to the carriage gates, three or four days
after the portentous news had issued from the palace, he found only a
ragged and grimy carter who demanded peremptorily to be admitted and
taken to his excellency at once.

"Be off with you, ragamuffin!" growled the majordomo.

"Be quick; open the gates!" replied the carter, swinging his whip
threateningly.

"Go away!" The majordomo spun on his heels contemptuously.

"I will skin you alive," vowed the carter, striking the iron with the
butt of his whip, "if you do not open these gates immediately. Open!"

There was real menace this time. Could the fellow be crazy? The
majordomo concluded to temporize.

"My good man," he said conciliatorily, "you have brains. You ought to
know that his excellency will receive no man in your condition. If you
do not stop hammering on those bars, I shall send for the police."

The carter thrust a hand through the grill. There was a ring on one of
his fingers.

"Imbecile, set your eye on that and admit me without more ado!"

The majordomo was thunderstruck. Indeed, a blast from the heavens would
have jarred him less.

"Open, then!"

The majordomo threw back the bolts and the carter pushed his way in.
That ring on the carter's finger? The majordomo felt himself slipping
into a fantastic dream.

"Take me to the baron."

Vastly subdued the majordomo preceded the carter into the office of the
embassy. There he left the strange guest and went in search of the
baron. The ambassador was in his study, reading.

"Your Excellency, there is a man in the office who desires to see you
quickly."

The ambassador laid down his book. "Upon what pretense did he gain
admittance at this hour?" he demanded.

"I refused him admittance, your Excellency, because he was dressed like
a carter.--"

"A carter!" The ambassador wrathfully jumped to his feet.

"One moment, your Excellency. He wore a ring on his finger, and I could
not refuse him."

"A ring, you say?"

Guarding his voice with his hand, the majordomo whispered two words.

"Here, and dressed like a carter? What the devil!" The ambassador rushed
from the study.

It was dark in the embassy office. Quickly the ambassador lighted some
candles. Gas would be too bright for such a meeting.

"Well, your Excellency?" said a voice from the leather lounge.

"Who are you?" For this was not the voice the baron expected to hear.

"My name at present does not matter. The news I bring is far more
important. His majesty emphatically declines any alliance with the
House of Ehrenstein."

The ambassador stumbled into a chair, his mind dulled, his shoulders
inert. This was a blow.

"Declines?" he murmured.

"He repudiates his uncle's negotiations absolutely."

"Damnation!" swore the ambassador, coming to life once more.

"The exact word used by the prince; in fact, the word has become common
property in the last forty-eight hours. Now then, what's to be done?
What do you suggest?"

"This means war. The duke will never swallow such an insult."

"War! It looks as if you and I, Baron, shall not accompany the king of
Prussia into Alsace-Lorraine. We shall have entertainment at home."

"This is horrible!"

"The devil of a muddle!"

"But what possessed the prince to blunder like this?"

"The prince really is not to blame. Our king, Baron, is a young colt. A
few months ago he gave his royal uncle carte blanche to seek a wife for
him. Politics demanded an alliance between Jugendheit and Ehrenstein.
There have been too many years of useless antagonism. On the head of
this bolt from Heaven comes the declaration of his majesty that he will
marry any other princess on the continent."

"They will pull this place down, brick by brick!"

"Let them! We have ten thousand more troops than Ehrenstein."

"You young men are a pack of fools!"

"Softly, Baron."

"You would like nothing better than war."

"Unless it is peace."

"Where is the king?"

The carter smiled. "He is hunting, they say, with the crown prince of
Bavaria."

"But you, why have you come dressed like this?"

"That is a little secret which I am not at liberty to disclose."

"But, great God, what's to be done?"

"Lie," urbanely.

"What good will lies do?"

"They will suspend the catastrophe till we are ready to meet it. The
marriage is not to take place till spring. That will give us plenty of
time. After the coronation his majesty may be brought to reason. This
marriage must not fall through now. The grand duke will not care to
become the laughing-stock of Europe. The prince's advice is for you to
go about your affairs as usual. Only one man must be taken into your
confidence, and that man is Herbeck. If any one can straighten out his
end of the tangle it is he. He is a big man, of fertile invention; he
will understand. If this thing falls through his honors will fall with
it. He will work toward peace, though from what I have learned the duke
would not shun war."

"Where is the prince?"

"Wherever he is, he is working for the best interests of the state.
Don't worry about his royal highness; he's a man."

"When did you come?"

"This morning. Though I have been here before in this same guise."

"There is the Bavarian princess," remarked the ambassador musingly.

"Ha! A good thought! But the king is romantic; she is older than he,
and ugly."

"You are not telling me everything," intuitively.

"I know it. I am telling you all that is at present necessary."

"You make me the unhappiest man in the kingdom! I have worked so hard
and long toward this end. When did the king decline this alliance?"

"Evidently the moment he heard of it. I have his letter in my pocket. I
am requested to read it to you. Listen:

    "'MY ILLUSTRIOUS AND INDUSTRIOUS UNCLE: I regret exceedingly that at
    this late day I should cause you political embarrassment; but when I
    gave my consent to the espousal of any of the various princesses at
    liberty, surely it was understood that Ehrenstein was not to be
    considered. I refuse to marry the daughter of the man who privately
    strove to cover my father with contumely, who dared impute to him a
    crime that was any man's but my father's. I realize that certain
    policies called for this stroke on your part, but it can not be. My
    dear uncle, you have digged a fine pit, and I hope you will find a
    safe way out of it. I refuse to marry the Princess Hildegarde. This
    is final. It can be arranged without any discredit to the duke or to
    yourself. Let it be said that her serene highness has thrown me
    over. I shan't go to war about it.

    "'FREDERICK.'"

"Observe 'My illustrious and industrious uncle'!" laughed the carter
without mirth. "Our king, you will see, has a graceful style."

"Your tone is not respectful," warned the ambassador.

"Neither is the state of my mind. Oh, my king is a fine fellow; he will
settle down like his father before him; but to-day--" The carter dropped
his arms dejectedly.

"There is something going on."

"What, you are likely to learn at any moment. Pardon me, Baron, but if I
dared I would tell you all. But his highness' commands are over me and I
must obey them. It would be a mental relief to tell some one."

"Curse these opera-dancers!"

The carter laughed. "Aye, where kings are concerned. But you do him
injustice. Frederick is as mild as Strephon." He gained his feet. He
was young, pleasant of face, but a thorough soldier.

"You are Lieutenant von Radenstein!" cried the ambassador. "I recognize
you now."

"Thanks, your Excellency!"

"You are in the royal household, the regent's invisible arm. I have
heard a good deal about you. I knew your father well."

"Again, thanks. Now, the regent has heard certain rumors regarding an
American named Carmichael, a consul. He is often seen with her highness.
Rather an extraordinary privilege."

"Rest your mind there, Lieutenant. This Carmichael is harmless. You
understand, her highness has not always been surrounded by royal
etiquette. She has had her freedom too long not to grow restive under
restraint. The American is a pleasant fellow, but not worth considering.
Americans will never understand the ways of court life. Still, he is a
gentleman, and so far there is nothing compromising in that situation.
He can be eliminated at any time."

"This is reassuring. You will see the chancellor to-night and show him
this letter?"

"I will, and God help us all to straighten out this blunder!"

"Amen to that! One word more, and then I'm off. If a butcher or a baker,
or even a mountaineer pulls the bell-cord and shows this ring, admit him
without fail. He will have vital news. And now, good night and good luck
to your excellency."

For half an hour the ambassador remained staring at the candlesticks. By
and by he resumed his chair. What should he do? Where should he begin?
Suppose the chancellor should look at the situation adversely, from the
duke's angle of vision, should the duke learn? There was but one thing
to do and that was to go boldly to Herbeck and lay the matter before him
frankly. Neither Jugendheit nor Ehrenstein wanted war. The chancellor
was wise; it would be better to dally with the truth than needlessly to
sacrifice ten thousand lives. But what had the lieutenant further to
conceal? The ambassador wanted no dinner. He rang for his hat and coat,
and twenty minutes later he was in the chancellor's cabinet.

"You seem out of health, Baron," was the chancellor's greeting.

"I am indeed that, Count. I received a letter to-day from the prince
regent. It was sent to him by his majesty, who is hunting in Bavaria.
Read it, Count, but I pray to you to do nothing hastily."

The chancellor did not open the letter, he merely balanced it. That so
light a thing should be so heavy with dark portents! His accustomed
pallor assumed a grayish tinge.

"So his majesty declines?" he said evenly.

"You have already heard?" cried the amazed ambassador.

"Nothing; I surmise. The hour, your appearance, the letter--to what else
could they point? I was afraid all along. Strange instinct we have at
times. The regent is to be pitied; he took too much for granted. He has
been used to power one day too long. Ah, if his majesty could but see
her, could only know how lovely she is in heart and mind and face! Is
she not worthy a crown?"

"Herbeck, nothing would please me better, nothing would afford my
country greater pleasure and satisfaction, than to see this marriage
consummated. It would nail that baseless lie which has so long been
current."

"I believe you. We two peoples should be friendly. It has taken me
months to bring this matter round. The duke rebelled; her highness
scorned the hand of Frederick. One by one I had to overcome their
objections--to this end. The past refuses to be buried. Still, if you
saw all the evidence in the case you would not blame the duke for his
attitude."

"But those documents are rank forgeries!"

"So they may be, but that has not been proved."

"Why should his late majesty abduct the daughter of the grand duke? For
what benefits? To what end? Ah, Count, if some motive could be brought
forward, some motive that could stand!"

"Motives, my friend? They spring from the most unheard-of places. And
motives in action are always based on impulses. But let us waste no time
on retrospection. It is the present which confronts us. You do not want
war."

"No more do you."

"What remedy do you suggest?"

"I ask, nay, I plead that question of you."

"I represent the offended party." The chancellor's gaunt features
lighted with a transient smile. "Proceed, Baron."

"I suggest, then, that the duke must not know."

"Agreed. Go on."

"You will put the matter before her highness."

"That will be difficult."

"Let her repudiate the negotiations. Let her say that she has changed
her mind. His majesty is quite willing that the humiliation be his."

"That is generous. But suppose she has set her heart on the crown of
Jugendheit? What then?"

The baron bit the ends of his mustache.

"Suppose that?" the chancellor pressed relentlessly.

"In that event, the affair is no longer in our hands but in God's."

"As all affairs are. Is there no way of changing the king's mind?"

"Read the letter, Count," said the ambassador.

Herbeck hunted for the postmark: Bavaria. He read the letter. There was
nothing between the lines. It was the work of rather an irresponsible
boy.

"May I take this to her highness?" asked the chancellor.

"I'm afraid--"

"I promise its contents will not go beyond her eye."

"I will take the risk."

"His majesty is very young," was the chancellor's comment.

"Young! He is a child. He has been in his palace twice in ten years. He
is travel-mad. He has been wandering in France, Holland, England,
Belgium. He tells his uncle to play the king till the coronation.
Imagine it! And the prince has found this authority so pleasant and
natural that he took it for granted that his majesty would marry
whomever he selected for him. To have allowed us to go forward, as we
have done, believing that he had the whole confidence of the king!"

Herbeck consulted his watch. It was half after six. Her highness did not
dine till eight.

"I shall go to her highness immediately, Baron. I shall return the
letter by messenger, and he will tell you the result of the interview."

"God be with you," said the ambassador, preparing to take his leave,
"for all women are contrary."

After the baron was gone the chancellor paced the room with halting
step. Then, toward the wraith of his ambition he waved a hand as if to
explain how futile are the schemes of men. He shook himself free from
this idle moment and proceeded to the apartments of her highness. Would
she toss aside this crown, or would she fight for it? He found her
alone.

"Well, my good fairy, what is in your magic wand to-night?" she asked.
How fond she was of this great good man, and how lonely he always
seemed!

He saluted her hand respectfully. "I am not a good fairy to-night, your
Highness. On the contrary, I am an ogre. I have here a letter. I have
given my word that its contents shall not be repeated to the duke, your
father. If I let you read it, will you agree to that?"

"And who has written this letter?" non-committally.

"His majesty, the king of Jugendheit," slowly.

"A letter from the king?" she cried, curious. "Should it not be brought
to me on a golden salver?"

"It is probable that I am bringing it to you at the end--of a bayonet,"
solemnly. "If the duke learns its contents the inevitable result will be
war."

A silence fell upon them and grew. This was the bitterest moment but one
in the chancellor's life.

"I believe," she said finally, "that it will not be necessary to read
his majesty's letter. He declines the honor of my hand: is that not it?"

The chancellor signified that it was.

"Ah!" with a note of pride in her voice and a flash in her eyes. "And
I?"

"You will tell the duke that you have changed your mind," gravely.

"Do princesses change their minds like this?"

"They have often done so."

"In spite of publicity?"

"Yes, your Highness."

"And if I refuse to change my mind?"

"I am resigned to any and all events."

"War." Her face was serious. "And what has the king to suggest?"

"He proposes to accept the humiliation of being rejected by you."

"Why, this is a gallant king! Pouff! There goes a crown of thistledown."
She smiled at the chancellor, then she laughed. There was nothing but
youth in the laughter, youth and gladness. "Oh, I knew that you were a
good fairy. Listen to me. I declare to you that I am happier at this
moment than I have been in days. To marry a man I have never seen, to
become the wife of a man who is nothing to me, whose looks, character,
and habits are unknown; why, I have lived in a kind of horror. You did
not find me soon enough; there are yet some popular ideas in my head
which are alien to the minds of princesses. I am free!" And she uttered
the words as with the breath of spring.

The chancellor's shoulders drooped a trifle more, and his hand closed
down over the letter. Otherwise there was no notable change in his
appearance. He was always guarding the muscles of his face.
Inscrutability is the first lesson of the diplomat; and he had learned
it thirty years before.

"There will be no war," resumed her highness. "I know my father; our
wills may clash, but in this instance mine shall be the stronger."

"But this is not the end."

"You mean that there will be other kings?" She had not thought of this,
and some of the brightness vanished from her face.

"Yes, there will be other kings. I am sorry. What young girl has not her
dream of romance? But princesses must not have romances. Yours, my
child, must be a political marriage. It is a harsh decree."

"Have not princesses married commoners?"

"Never wisely. Your highness will not make a mistake like that."

"My highness will or will not marry, as she pleases. Am I a chattel,
that I am to be offered across this frontier or that?"

The chancellor moved uneasily. "If your highness loved out of your
class, which I know you do not, I should be worried."

"And if I did?" with a rebel tilt to her chin.

"Till that moment arrives I shall not borrow trouble. You will, then,
tell the duke that you have changed your mind, that you have
reconsidered?"

"This evening. Now, godfather, you may kiss her serene highness on the
forehead."

"This honor to me?" The chancellor trembled.

"Even so."

He did not touch her with Ne hands, but the kiss he put on her forehead
was a benediction.

"You may go now," she said, "for I shall need the whole room to dance
in. I am free, if only for a little while!"

Outside the door the chancellor paused. She was singing. It was the same
aria he had heard that memorable night when he found her in the dim
garret.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The next morning, Ani wakes up to the sound of her neighbors talking. She gets dressed quickly and heads toward the mess hall, where three dozen other workers are helping themselves to heaping amounts of food. She's not really sure what all the fuss is about since they're eating greasy eggs, lumps of beans with mutton chunks, and oat muffins, but she gobbles some breakfast anyway. Some of the workers already seem to know she's the goose girl, and she meets Conrad, who is working with the animals already. He tells her to take it easy with the geese since they might bite her kneecaps. Even though Ani speaks bird, she can't communicate with the geese since they all honk and squawk in a way she's never heard before. Conrad notices they're missing a couple geese, but he's not sure where they went. It looks like he doesn't speak geese either--or understand them all that much. At the end of the day, Ani's exhausted. She finally gets why everyone was stuffing their pie-holes earlier: it's hard work out in the fields all day. She still wants to find Falada, but hasn't been able to leave all day. Sad face. Back at the food hall, a girl named Enna rushes in and tells the boys, Razo and Beier, to come quick--a ram got in her chicken coop and is going mad. They boys go rushing out, just in time for Enna to let everyone who's left over in on a secret: she rigged a big old bucket of oat mush to fall on them when they walk in--which they totally deserve. They put colored eggs in her chicken's coop and made her believe her poor hen was sick; she tried remedy after potion and nothing worked, because nothing was actually wrong with her hen. When she found out, she decided to play a little prank of her own by hooking up the oat mush over their heads. Ani wants to keep to herself, but she feels comfortable with Enna. The chicken girl tells Ani not to worry too much about Conrad--he's tough at first, but he's pretty cool when you get to know him. Plus, Enna seems to know a lot of the kingdom gossip. She tells Ani the princess came in with a cursed horse that she didn't know how to ride. Could that be Falada? Ani hopes her friend isn't hurt, but she's not so sure. Conrad wants to know what the princess looked like, and Enna reports she was wearing a sparkly silver dress that looked princess-y. Word on the street is she's had ten new dresses made since she's come to Bayern too--everyone agrees this is very princess-like of her. Just then, Razo and Beier come back, dripping with gray slop. Joke's on them, and everyone laughs before heading off to bed.