Poor child! I am afraid she did most of her work after dark; for I
sometimes left her standing there at ten o'clock at night. She was
blanched and shrunken from fatigue and lack of sunlight. I doubt if ever,
unless perhaps on some exceptional Sunday, she knew the sensation of a
full breath of pure air or a warm sunbeam on her face.
But whenever I passed her she smiled, and there was never-failing
good-cheer in her voice when she said "Good-morning." Her uniform
atmosphere of contentedness so impressed and surprised me that, at last, I
said to Franz, the head waiter,--
"What makes Gretchen so happy? She has a hard life, always standing in
that narrow dark place, washing dishes."
Franz was phlegmatic, and spoke very little English. He shrugged his
shoulders, in sign of assent that Gretchen's life was a hard one, and
added,--
"Ja, ja. She likes because all must come at her door. There will be no one
which will say not nothing if they go by."
That was it. Almost every hour some human voice said pleasantly to her,
"Good-morning, Gretchen," or "It is a fine day;" or, if no word were
spoken, there would be a friendly nod and smile.
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