The innkeeper shrugged. "I have never heard of an Englishman running away."
"And I have seen many a German do that," I put in. "How am I to know that your going to the barracks is not a ruse?"
He gasped. The words would not come which would do justice to his feelings. He drew off one of his gloves and threw it into my face. It stung me. I should have knocked him down, but for the innkeeper stepping between.
"No, Herr," he said; "do not disable him."
"You had best go to the barracks at once," said I to the lieutenant.
My clothes were too small for me now, and I did not shiver in my shoes.
My "Yankee" blood was up. I would have fought him with battle axes.
"Herr," said the innkeeper, when the two had made off for the barracks, "you are a man of courage."
"Thanks," said I.
"Do you know anything about rapiers?" he asked.
"I know the handle from the blade; that's all. But that does not make any difference. I'd fight him with any weapon. He struck me; and then—then, he kissed Gretchen."
"I have wiped it off, Herr," said Gretchen, dryly. Then she passed from the room.