"And what is your own name, pray?"
"Pan--cra--tius," answered Willmann, drawling it out, while he still kept playing with his watch-chain.
"A fine name! Well then, Herr Pancratius Willmann, in three weeks come again, and meanwhile, if I should be passing by the 'Golden Lamb' I'll give you a call to see how you are getting along. Adieu!"
Willmann took his leave with mild thanks for the advice wasted on him, and Hagenbach was left alone.
"The thing agrees," murmured he to himself. "He is a cousin, then, of that much lamented Engelbert, whose picture is draped in mourning. They both have that pious way of turning up their eyes; it seems to be a family-failing. Shall I tell her about it? I'll take good care not to! She would send for the dear kinsman on the spot, and then there would be a repetition of that tale of woe, and a fresh eulogium of eternal constancy. As for the rest, I must give Dagobert the prescription I promised, to take with him, as he is about to set out for the Manor-house."
So saying he went across to his nephew's room, whom he was glad to find still in. The young man had already made his preparations for going out. His hat and gloves lay on the table beside a bulky blue note-book, but he himself stood before the looking-glass, carefully considering his own precious person. He tied his cravat straight, drew his fingers through his fair locks, and tried to give a bold air to his newly-budding mustache.
Finally Dagobert seemed content with the appearance of his outer man: he retired a few steps, laid his hand most touchingly upon his heart, sighed profoundly, and then began to say something in a whisper that could not be heard by the doctor, who gazed upon the scene from the threshold of the door, with increasing astonishment.
"Fellow, have you turned crazy?" asked he, in his gruff manner.
Dagobert started and turned crimson from embarrassment.
"I believe your brain is cracked, all of a sudden," continued his uncle, advancing nearer. "What is the meaning of these preparations?"