“If that is so,” said M. Goefle, pushing away the glass he was about to fill, “hence, perfidious beverage! To get tipsy alone is the most melancholy business in the world. Will you come over to Stollborg and drink with me? Or—stay, when I was here this morning I heard somebody saying that there was to be a race by torchlight on the lake to-night, unless there should be more snow; but, on the contrary, the weather was magnificent when I came over. Let us join the party. Every one is privileged, you know, to appear disguised during the Christmas entertainments, and faith! I remember this moment that Countess Elveda said something about a masquerade.”
“A good idea,” said Christian, “and exactly in my line—the man in the mask! But what shall we do for costumes? I have a hundred or more there in my box, but neither of us could very well bring himself down to the size of a marionette.”
“Oh, perhaps we can find something over at Stollborg.”
“Not in my wardrobe then, most assuredly.”
“Well, in mine, perhaps. If we can’t do anything else, we can put on our clothes wrong side out. But a little imagination—”
“Very well! Go on, then, M. Goefle, I will follow you. I have still to load up Jean and receive my money. Take this mask; I have another. Possibly there may be some inquisitive fellows on the stairs.”
“Or some inquisitive ladies—on your account. Be quick, Christian! I’ll go on in advance.”
And M. Goefle, as springy and active as if but twenty years old, darted down stairs, pushing his way past the servants, and even jostling certain ladies, very carefully wrapped up, who had quietly crept in to try and see the famous Christian Waldo as he should pass. Christian himself, consequently, attracted no attention at all, and met comparatively few persons, when a moment afterwards he followed, carrying his box and his great bundle.
“That must be the assistant,” they said, “since he’s carrying the things. He must needs wear a mask too, the booby!”
And they lamented their ill-success in failing to catch the least glimpse of the face or even of the figure of Waldo himself, who had shot off like lightning.