The morning sunshine shone less bright than usual that day to many who heard the tale, for Gretchen's modest behavior and pleasant courtesy had made her a favorite with all her customers. The livery music of the band failed to inspirit us, and when Emmie and I had taken our compulsory walk, and fetched in little paper bags the rolls that were to serve for our breakfast, we sat down sadly and gravely enough, at a little table under the shady trees, to drink our coffee.
"Can't we do anything for Gretchen, uncle?"
"We can give her some money," I suggested; "doctors cost more than she can afford, poor child."
Just then Frau Schimpf, who was breakfasting at a table near us, and with whom Emmie had occasionally exchanged a few words, turned round and said something to her in German. And then followed a conversation, in the course of which my niece learnt fuller particulars of the recent accident. It appeared that Gretchen was the eldest child of a large family, and the only member of it besides the mother capable of earning anything. That mother was a widow, herself too delicate to be able to work much; and now the poor girl's weekly wage must cease, for she could never be well enough this summer to resume her post. "Even if she ever does get well enough," continued the German lady. "I have seen the Herr Doctor only this last half-hour, and he says her injuries are so severe he cannot yet tell whether she may not have to lose her leg, and then what would become of them? Gretchen, even with a wooden leg, would not be able to stoop fast enough to fill the visitors' glasses another season, and what else could she do? Besides," added the good woman reflectively, "a wooden leg is expensive; it wears out—you have to buy another. Gretchen is young; she may live long enough to need a dozen wooden legs before she dies, to say nothing of sticks and crutches." And as Emmie translated to me this dolorous suggestion, Frau Schimpf finished her repast and walked away.
We found that Gretchen's accident had created quite a little excitement at the Schwartz Adler, where many of her customers were staying; and before dinner-time the general desire to help the little maiden had taken definite form, and it was unanimously decided that the visitors at the hotel should get up an entertainment something in the style of penny readings at home for her benefit. It was to come off as soon as possible, while the interest was at its hight; and ardent spirits amongst us formed themselves into a committee of management, and went about the house, knocking at every one's door in search of talent of all kind to swell their programme for the following Tuesday. Emmie and I were requested to give our valuable services; but happily the house contained so many stars more brilliant than ourselves that we were permitted to sink into contented insignificance after purchasing our five franc tickets for the entertainment.
It was wonderfully well got up: somehow these things arrange themselves more easily and simply amongst foreigners than with us, and the number of performers was astonishing. There was a gentleman who played the flute, another who accompanied his wife's pianoforte music on the violoncello, several amateur singers with voices far above the average, brilliant pianists and violinists, besides readers and reciters in French, English, and German, to suit all tastes. The landlord placed his big salon at the disposal of the committee, and Emmie assisted a bevy of ladies to deck its walls with flowers and evergreens, while the non-performing gentlemen, myself amongst them, went to and fro executing their sometimes rather contradictory orders. Amongst them all I looked in vain for Madame B. What a sweet retiring disposition she must have! I thought, for she is never visible except at dinner-time; but by and by Frau Schimpf came bustling in, and presently Emmie ran up to me with a translation of that worthy woman's latest remarks.
"She says we shall have a treat indeed this evening, uncle, for Madame B. has at last consented, under extreme pressure, to recite in German."
"Admirable woman!" said I, which was what I thought; but Emmie fancied it was spoken ironically, and went on to rebuke me gently.
"You shouldn't laugh at her," she said; "it really must be horrid to have to stand up and spout before all these people; and I don't wonder it took a lot of coaxing to persuade her to do it. I don't think even you, my much and deservedly beloved uncle, would ever be able to induce me to perform in public."
"And if I could, my dear, you would not be worth hearing," returned I; for we were on terms of friendly chaff, and I liked her to get occasionally as good as she gave.