The pause was broken by Gretchen.
"Pardon, Highness!"
"For what, Gretchen?"
"For not having seen your approach."
"That was my fault, not yours. When is the wedding?"
"After the vintage, Highness."
Her highness then spoke to the bridegroom-elect. "You will be good to her?"
"Who could help it, your Highness?"
The pronoun struck her oddly, for peasants as a usual thing never used it in addressing the nobility.
"Well, on the day of the wedding I will stand sponsor to you both. And good luck go with you. Come, Hoffman; my horse will be restive and my men impatient."