Chapter: Colonel Von Wallenstein curled his mustaches. It was a happy thought
that had taken him into the Adlergasse. This Gretchen had been haunting
his dreams, and here she was, coming into his very arms, as it were. The
sidewalk was narrow. Gretchen, casually noting that an officer stood in
the way, sensibly veered into the road. But to her surprise the soldier
left the sidewalk and planted himself in the middle of the road. There
was no mistaking this second maneuver. The officer, whom she now
recognized, was bent on intercepting her. She stopped, a cold fury in
her heart.

To make sure, she essayed to go round. It was of no use. So she stopped
again.

"Herr," she said quietly, "I wish to pass."

"That is possible, Gretchen."

It was nine o'clock in the morning. The Adlergasse was at this time
deserted.

"Will you stand aside?"

"You have been haunting my dreams, Gretchen."

"That would be a pity. But I wish to pass."

"Presently. Do you know that you are the most beautiful being in all
Dreiberg?"

"I am in a hurry," said Gretchen.

"There is plenty of time."

"Not to listen to foolish speeches."

"I am not going to let you pass till I have had a kiss."

"Ah!" Battle flamed up in Gretchen's eyes. Somewhere in the past, in
some remote age, her forebears had been men-at-arms or knights in the
crusades.

"You are very hard to please. Some women--"

"But what kind of women?" bitingly. "Not such as I should care to meet.
Will you let me by peacefully?"

"After the toll, after the toll!"

Too late she started to run. He laughed and caught hold of her. Slowly
but irresistibly he drew her toward his heart. The dead-white of her
face should have warned him. With a supreme effort she freed herself
and struck him across the face; and there was a man's strength in the
flat of her hand. Quick as a flash she whirled round and ran up the
street, he hot upon her heels. He was raging now with pain and chagrin.
The one hope for Gretchen now lay in the Black Eagle; and into the
tavern she darted excitedly.

"Fraeu Bauer," she cried, gasping as much in wrath as for lack of breath,
"may I come behind your counter?"

"To be sure, child. Whatever is the matter?"

Wallenstein's entrance was answer sufficient. His hand, held against his
stinging cheek, was telltale enough for the proprietress of the Black
Eagle.

"Shame!" she cried. She knew her rights. She was not afraid to speak
plainly to any officer in the duchy, however high he might be placed.

"I can not get at you there, Gretchen," said the colonel, giving to his
voice that venom which the lady's man always has at hand when thwarted
in his gallantries. "You will have to come hence presently."

"She shall stay here all day," declared Fraeu Bauer decidedly.

"I can wait." The colonel, now possessing two smarts, one to his cheek
and one to his vanity, made for the door. But there was a bulk in the
doorway formidable enough to be worth serious contemplation.

"What is going on here, little goose-girl?" asked the grizzled old man,
folding his arms round his oak staff.

"Herr Colonel insulted me."

"Insulted you?" The colonel laughed boisterously. This was good; an
officer insult a wench of this order! "Out of the way!" he snarled at
the obstruction in the doorway.

"What did he try to do to you, Gretchen?"

"He tried to kiss me!"

"The man who tries to kiss a woman against her will is always at heart a
coward," said the mountaineer.

The colonel seized the old man by the shoulder to push him aside. The
other never so much as stirred. He put out one of his arms and clasped
the colonel in such a manner that he gasped. He was in the clutch of a
Carpathian bear.

"Well, my little soldier?" said the mountaineer, his voice even and not
a vein showing in his neck.

"I will kill you for this!" breathed the colonel heavily.

"So?" The old man thrust him back several feet, without any visible
exertion. He let his staff slide into his hand.

The moment the colonel felt himself liberated, he drew his saber and
lunged toward his assailant. There was murder in his heart. The two
women screamed. The old man laughed. He turned the thrust with his
staff. The colonel, throwing caution to the four winds, surrendered to
his rage. He struck again. The saber rang against the oak. This
dexterity with the staff carried no warning to the enraged officer. He
struck again and again. Then the old man struck back. The pain in the
colonel's arm was excruciating. His saber rattled to the stone flooring.
Before he could recover the weapon the victor had put his foot upon it.
He was still smiling, as if the whole affair was a bit of pastime.

On his part the colonel's blood suddenly cooled. This was no accident;
this meddling peasant had at some time or other held a saber in his hand
and knew how to use it famously well. The colonel realized that he had
played the fool nicely.

"My sword," he demanded, with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Will you sheathe it?" the old man asked mildly.

"Since it is of no particular use," bitterly.

"I could have broken it half a dozen times. Here, take it. But be wise
in the future, and draw it only in the right."

The gall was bitter on the colonel's tongue, but his head was evenly
balanced now. He jammed the blade into the scabbard.

"I should like a word or two with you outside," said the mountaineer.

"To what purpose?"

"To a good one, as you will learn."

The two of them went out. Gretchen, overcome, fell upon Fraeu Bauer's
neck and wept soundly. The whole affair had been so sudden and
appalling.

Outside the old man laid his hand on the colonel's arm.

"You must never bother her again."

"Must?"

"The very word. Listen, and do not be a fool because you have some
authority on the general staff. You are Colonel von Wallenstein; you are
something more besides."

"What do you infer?"

"I infer nothing. Now and then there happens strange leakage in the
duke's affairs. The man is well paid. He is a gambler, and one is always
reasonably certain that the gambler will be wanting money. Do you begin
to understand me, or must I be more explicit?"

"Who are you?"

"Who I am is of no present consequence. But I know who and _what_ you
are. That is all-sufficient. If you behave yourself in the future, you
will be allowed to continue in prosperity. But if you attempt to molest
that girl again and I hear of it, there will be no more gold coming over
the frontier from Jugendheit. Now, do you understand?"

"Yes." The colonel experienced a weakness in the knees.

"Go. But be advised and walk circumspectly." The speaker showed his
back insolently, and reentered the Black Eagle.

The colonel, pale and distrait, stared at the empty door; and he saw in
his mind's eye a squad of soldiers, a wall, a single volley, and a
dishonored roll of earth. Military informers were given short shrift. It
was not a matter of tearing off orders and buttons; it was death. Who
was this terrible old man, with the mind of a serpent and the strength
of a bear? The colonel went to the barracks, but his usual debonair was
missing.

"I am going into the garden, Gretchen. Bring me a stein of brown." The
mountaineer smiled genially.

"But I am not working here any more," said Gretchen.

"No?"

"She has had a fortune left her," said Fraeu Bauer.

"Well, well!" The mountaineer seemed vastly pleased. "And how much is
this fortune?"

"Two thousand crowns." Gretchen was not sure, but to her there always
seemed to be a secret laughter behind those clear eyes.

"Handsome! And what will you do now?"

"She is to study for the opera."

"Did I not prophesy it?" he cried jubilantly.

"Did I not say that some impresario would discover you and make your
fortune?"

"There is plenty of work ahead," said Gretchen sagely.

"Always, no matter what we strive for. But a brave heart and a cheerful
smile carry you half-way up the hill. Where were you going when this
popinjay stopped you?"

"I was going to the clock-mender's for a clock he is repairing."

"I've nothing to do. I'll go with you. I've an idea that I should like
to talk with you about a very important matter. Perhaps it would be
easier to talk first and then go for the clock. If you have it you'll be
watching it. Will you come into the garden with me now?"

"Yes, Herr." Gretchen would have gone anywhere with this strange man. He
inspired confidence.

The garden was a snug little place; a few peach-trees and arbor-vines
and vegetables, and tables and chairs on the brick walk.

"So you are going to become a prima donna?" he began, seating himself
opposite her.

"I am going to try," she smiled. "What is it you wish to say to me?"

"I am wondering how to begin," looking at the blue sky.

"Is it difficult?"

"Yes, very."

"Then why bother?"

"Some things are written before we are born. And I must, in the order of
things, read this writing to you."

"Begin," said Gretchen.

"Have you any dreams?"

"Yes," vaguely.

"I mean the kind one has in the daytime, the dreams when the eyes are
wide open."

"Oh, yes!"

"Who has not dreamed of riding in carriages, of dressing in silks, of
wearing rich ornaments?"

"Ah!" Gretchen clasped her hands and leaned on her elbows. "And there
are palaces, too."

"To be sure." There was a long pause. "How would you like a dream of
this kind to come true?"

"Do they ever come true?"

"In this particular case, I am a fairy. I know that I do not look it;
still, I am. With one touch of my wand--this oak staff--I can bring you
all these things you have dreamed about."

"But what would I do with carriages and jewels? I am only a goose-girl,
and I am to be married."

"To that young rascal of a vintner?"

"He is not a rascal!" loyally.

"It will take but little to make him one," with an odd grimness.

Gretchen did not understand.

He resumed, "how would you like a little palace, with servants at your
beck and call, with carriages to ride in, with silks and velvets to
wear, and jewels to adorn your hair? How would you like these things?
Eh? Never again to worry about your hands, never again to know the
weariness of toil, to be mistress of swans instead of geese?"

A shadow fell upon Gretchen's face; the eagerness died out of her eyes.

"I do not understand you, Herr. By what right should I possess these
things?"

"By the supreme right of beauty, beauty alone."

"Would it be--honest?"

For the first time he lowered his eyes. The clear crystal spirit in hers
embarrassed him.

"Come, let us go for your clock," he said, rising. "I am an old fool. I
forgot that one talks like this only to opera-dancers."

Then Gretchen understood. "I am all alone," she said; "I have had to
fight my battles with these two hands."

"I am a black devil, _Kindchen_. Forget what I have said. You are worthy
the brightest crown in Europe; but you wear a better one than
that--goodness. If any one should ever make you unhappy, come to me. I
will be your godfather. Will you forgive an old man who ought to have
known better?"

There was such unmistakable honesty in his face and eyes that she did
not hesitate, but placed her hand in his.

"Why did you ask all those questions?" she inquired.

"Perhaps it was only to test your strength. You are a brave and honest
girl."

"And if trouble came," now smiling, "where should I find you?"

"I shall be near when it comes. Good fairies are always close at hand."
He swept his hat from his head; ease and grace were in the movement; no
irony, nothing but respect. "And do you love this vintner?"

"With all my heart."

"And he loves you?"

"Yes. His lips might lie, but not his eyes and the touch of his hand."

"So much the worse!" said the mountaineer inaudibly.

Gretchen had gone home with her clock; but still Herr Ludwig, as the
mountaineer called himself, tarried in the dim and dusty shop. Clocks,
old and new, broken and whole, clocks from the four ends of the world;
and watches, thick and clumsy, thin and graceful, of gold and silver and
pewter.

"Is there anything you want?" asked the clock-mender.

Herr Ludwig turned. How old this clock-mender was, how very old!

"Yes," he said. "I've a watch I should like you to look over." And he
carelessly laid the beautiful time-piece on the worn wooden counter.

The clock-mender literally pounced upon it. "Where did you get a watch
like this?" he demanded suspiciously.

"It is mine. You will find my name engraved inside the back lid."

The clock-mender pried open the case, adjusted his glass--and dropped
it, shaking with terror.

"You?" he whispered.

"Sh!" said Herr Ludwig, putting a finger to his lips.

 The next day, at Ani and Geric's usual hangout, the guard seems a little down, but when Ani asks him about it, he brushes it off. Ani changes the subject to the princess's stallion , and Geric tells her that he's not doing so hot and it looks like he might be killed soon. It's up to the princess of course, but she's on board with putting the horse out of its misery since he's completely lost his marbles. Ani can't bear the thought of her beloved horse dying, so she asks Geric if he can save Falada. He says he's not sure he can, and that the horse might have been killed already. Yikes. Ani begs Geric to save the horse, though, saying she wouldn't ask if it wasn't really important to her. Geric tells her that he loves spending time with her and thinks of her as a really great friend, so he'll try to do everything he can to save the horse, but no promises. That night, Ani can't sit still or sleep--she has to try to help Falada, so she sneaks into the palace stables again. This time however, they are empty, and she knows it's too late. But that's just the start of her problems--Ungolad sees her in the stables and starts running after her. Faster and faster she runs, scared that any step might be her last. She knows she'll be through if he catches her, so she stops at the gate and asks the guard to help her. Luckily, one of them stops Ungolad to ask him what all the commotion is about, just long enough for her to slip away and make it back to her little room, alone. Phew. The next day, Ani gets a letter from Geric. In it, he tells her that he can't keep meeting up in the pasture with her--and then he writes, "I cannot love you as a man loves a woman." Huh? Ani's confused, upset, and not really sure what to think--and what's more, Geric confirms that Falada was already killed by the time he got to the palace. As she thinks about Geric's message, Ani decides to give Falada the burial he deserves; he was a true friend and the princess's horse, after all. She tracks down the knacker who has Falada's body and pays him to give her beloved horse a fitting end. Knowing she's the goose girl, he promises to give the horse honorable rites. Later that week, Ani and Conrad walk back from the pasture, and there--on top of the goose pasture gate--is Falada . Ani's grossed out, but Conrad tells her it's a sign of respect. That's honorable? Sticking a horse's head to a wall? Ani's not so sure she's on board with that.

