All in all, I was forced to admit that, from an impartial and artistic view Gretchen the barmaid was far more beautiful than Phyllis.

From the standpoint of a lover it was altogether a different matter.
"Gretchen," said I, "you are very good-looking." "It would not be difficult to tell Herr's nationality." "Which means---- ?" "That the American says in one sentence what it would take a German or a Frenchman several hundred sentences to say." Gretchen was growing more interesting every minute.
"Then your mirror and I are not the only ones who have told you that you are as beautiful as Hebe herself ?" "I am not Hebe," coldly.

"I am a poor barmaid, and I never spill any wine." "So you understand mythology ?" I cried in wonder.
"Does Herr think that all barmaids are as ignorant as fiction and ill-meaning novelists depict them?
I have had a fair education." "If I ever was guilty of thinking so," said I, answering her question, "I promise never to think so again." "And now will Herr go to his breakfast and let me attend to my duties ?" "Not without regret," I said gallantly.

I bowed to her as they bowed in the days of the beaux, while she looked on suspiciously.
At the breakfast table I proceeded to bombard the innkeeper.

I wanted to know more about Gretchen.
"Is Gretchen your daughter ?" I began.
"No, I am only her godfather," he said.