Neither of my companions took the least notice of me. The guide looked disgusted. Judging from his face, though he still thought me a worm he now suspected me of belonging to that highly objectionable class known as turned.
Having seen us safely into our slippers he was about to unlock the door when the bell rang. He left us standing mute before the shut door, and leaning over the balustrade—for, Reader, as Charlotte Brontë would say, he had come upstairs—he called down to the Fräulein who had taken our stick and sunshade to let in the visitors. She did so; and as she flung open the door I saw, through the pillars of the balustrade, Brosy on the threshold, and at the bottom of the steps, leaning against one of the copper wolves, her arm, indeed, flung over its valuable shoulder, the bishop's wife gasping.
At this sight the custodian rushed downstairs. The man in spectacles and myself, mute, meek, and motionless in our felt slippers, held our breaths.
'The public is requested not to touch the objects of art!' shouted the custodian as he rushed.
'Is he speaking to me, dear?' asked Mrs. Harvey-Browne, looking up at her son.
'I think he is, mother,' said Ambrose. 'I don't think you may lean on that wolf.'
'Wolf?' said his mother in surprise, standing upright and examining the animal through her eyeglasses with interest. 'So it is. I thought they were Prussian eagles.'
'Anyhow you mustn't touch it, mother,' said Ambrose, a slight impatience in his voice. 'He says the public are not to touch things.'
'Does he really call me the public? Do you think he is a rude person, dear?'
'Does the lady intend to see the Schloss or not?' interrupted the custodian. 'I have another party inside waiting.'