"Very well," I laughed; "I shall ask Gretchen."
He smiled. The smile said: "Much good it will do you."
Gretchen was in the barroom arranging some roses over the fireplace. Her hands were bare; they were small and white, and surprisingly well kept.
"Gretchen," said I, "I want you to tell me the legend of the inn."
"The legend?"
"Yes; about the Princess who was born here."
Gretchen laughed a merry laugh. The laugh said: "You are an amusing person!"
"Ah, the American is always after legends when he has tired of collecting antiquities. Was there a Princess born here? Perhaps. At any rate it is not a legend; history nor peasantry make mention of it. Will Herr be so kind as to carry the ladder to the mantel so I may wind the clock?"
I do so. Even at this early stage I could see that Gretchen had the faculty of making persons forget what they were seeking, and by the mere sound of her voice. And it was I who wound the clock.
"Gretchen," said I, "time lags. Make a servant out of me this morning."