Lenora had trimmed his hat and shoes with the greatest taste, helped him to furbish up the bells, and provided him with many little comforts. As soon as he saw he was recognised by acquaintance, his self-importance increased ten-fold. He attitudinized, strutted, and flourished his staff, till he made, as Giuseppe contemptuously observed, quite an ape of himself. Hofer, pitying him more than he deserved for the inglorious life he was going to lead, spoke a few kind words to him, and the priests gave him their blessings.
There is, or was, a good old inn, in the quaint little old-fashioned town of Rattenberg. In the best room of this inn, the three barons were already awaiting the Tyrolese, and chafing a little at their not having arrived first.
"Here they come at last," muttered Baron Hauser; "four of them, and we have only ordered covers for six."
"Who is the fourth?" said Baron Hormayr, looking up from his papers; "Teimer, perhaps."
"No; two Capuchins, Hofer, and a tall, swarthy youth—"
"Oh, Eisenstecken—I forgot the second Capuchin—he may be of use, but he is not equal to Father Joachim. Well, Hofer, here at last, man!"
"The Inn was turbid, baron, and the bridges broken."
"Ha! how did you ford it?"
"On stilts."