So Grumbach walked with her to the Krumerweg, and he asked her many questions, and some of her answers surprised him.
"Never knew father or mother?"
"No, Herr. I am only a foundling who fell into kind hands. This is where I live."
"And if I should ask to come in?"
"But I shall be too busy to talk. This is bread-day," evasively.
"I promise to sit very quiet in a chair."
Her laughter rippled; she was always close to that expression. "You are a funny man. Come in, then; but mind, you will be dusty with flour when you leave."
"I will undertake that risk," he replied, with a seriousness not in tune with the comedy of the situation.
Into the kitchen she led him. She was moved with curiosity. Why should any man wish to see a woman knead bread?
"Sit there, Herr." And she pointed to a stool at the left of the table. The sunlight came in through the window, and an aureola appeared above her beautiful head. "Have you never seen a woman knead flour?"