Gretchen fingered the latch suggestively.
"I am wrong, Gretchen; you are right. Kiss me!"
She liked the tone; she liked the kisses, too, though they hurt.
"Good night, my man!" she whispered.
"Good night, my woman! To-morrow night at eight."
He turned and ran lightly and swiftly up the street. Gretchen remained standing in the doorway till she could see him no more. Why should he run like that? She raised the latch and went inside.
From the opposite doorway a mountaineer, a carter, a butcher, and a baker stepped cautiously forth.
"He heard something," said the mountaineer. "He has ears like a rat for hearing. What a pretty picture!" cynically. "All the world loves a lover—sometimes. Touching scene!"
No one replied; no one was expected to reply; more than that, no one cared to court the fury which lay thinly disguised in the mountaineer's tones.
"To-morrow night; you heard what he said. I am growing weary of this play. You will stop him on his way to yonder house. A closed carriage will be at hand. Before he enters, remember. She watches him too long when he leaves. Fool!"