"And had come down from the sky in a chariot drawn by twelve peacocks," I said.
"No; not even then," replied Klaus, with immense emphasis, after a moment's reflection.
"And what have you done with the papers?" I inquired, with a smile.
"I have had them translated; nothing else."
"But that is not right," I said. "The papers might possibly lead to the discovery of a rich uncle, or something of the sort. Such things have happened before, Klaus."
"That is just what Doctor Snellius says."
"Who says?" I asked in astonishment.
"Doctor Snellius," Klaus repeated. "Your old friend in the prison. He is now the physician to the factory: did he never write to tell you?"
"No; or else the letter was intercepted, which is very possible. So he is your doctor, eh?--the doctor of the factory, I mean."
"Well, yes; I call him so, because he is always sent for when anything happens; but in truth he is, I believe, the doctor of all the poor in this part of the city."