Yes, there was one face; the rubicund countenance of the bandmaster.  It was older, more wrinkled, but it was the same.  How many years had the old fellow swung the baton?  At least thirty years.  In his boyhood days Grumbach had put that brilliant uniform side by side with the grand duke’s.  As it was impossible for him ever to become a duke, his ambition had been to arrive at the next greatest thing—­the bandmaster.  As he neared the pavilion he laughed silently and grimly.  To have grown wealthy as a master plumber instead!  So much for ambition!

Subsequently he found himself standing beside a young vintner and his peasant sweetheart.  Their hands secretly met and locked behind their backs.  Grumbach sighed.  Never would he know aught of this double love.  This Eden would never have any gate for him to push aside.  He would always go his way alone.

The girl turned her head.  Seeing Grumbach, she loosened the vintner’s hand.

“Do not mind me, girl,” said Grumbach, his face broadening.

The girl laughed easily and without confusion.  Her companion, however, flushed under his tan, and a scowl ran over his forehead.

The band struck up, and the little comedy was forgotten.  But Grumbach could not see anything except the girl’s face, the fresh, exquisite turn of her profile.  Once his eye wandered rather guiltily.  Her figure was in keeping with her face.  Then he saw the little wooden shoes.  Ah, well, as long as kings surrounded themselves with armies and with pomp, there would always be wooden shoes.  The band was playing Les Huguenots, and the girl hummed the air.

“Do not go there to-night, Gretchen,” said the vintner.

“It is a crown.”

“I will give you two if you will not go,” the vintner urged.

“Foolish boy, what good would that do?  We need every crown we have or can get, if we are to be married soon.  And you have not gone to work yet.  And every day costs you a crown to live, and more, for all I know.  You spend a crown as carelessly as if all you had to do was to pick them off the vines.  Crowns are hard to get.”

“When one is happy, one does not stop to bother about crowns,” he said impatiently.

“But will such happiness last?  Shall we not be happier as our crowns accumulate, to ward off sickness and hunger?  Must I teach you economy?”

“I shall apply for work to-morrow and waste no more crowns, my heart.”  The vintner’s hand again sought hers, and he sent Grumbach a look which said:  “Smile if you dare!”

But Grumbach did not smile.  He was too sad.  He fell into a dream, and the music faded in his ear and the lights of the pavilion grew dim.  He was a boy again, and he was carrying posies to the pretty little fraeulein in the Adlergasse.  Dreams never last, and sometimes they are rudely interrupted.

A hand was put upon his shoulder authoritatively.  The police officer who had examined his passports that morning stood at Grumbach’s elbow.