The others were simply three-legged stools.

There was little else in the room, save a poor reproduction of the Virgin Mary.
"Here I am, grandmother!" "And who is here with you ?" sharply but not unkindly.
"My man!" cried Gretchen gaily, her eyes bright as the candle flames.
"Bring him near me." Gretchen gathered up two stools and placed them on either side of her grandmother and motioned to the vintner to sit down.

He did so, easily and without visible embarrassment, even though the black eyes plunged a glance into his.
Her hair was white and thin, her nose aquiline, her lips fallen in, a cobweb of wrinkles round her eyes, down her cheeks, under her chin.

But her sight was undimmed.
"Where are you from?
You are not a Dreiberger." "From the north, grandmother," forcing a smile to his lips.
The reply rather gratified her.
"Your name." "Leopold Dietrich, a vintner by trade." "You speak like a Hanoverian or a Prussian." "I have passed some time in both countries.

I have wandered about a good deal." "Give me your hand." The vintner looked surprised for a moment.