“My predecessor,” said the young doctor to himself, as he went out, “heard too much, and repeated too freely what he heard. The baron, in consequence, was offended; they quarrelled, and the doctor was persecuted, until he had to leave the country. A good lesson to me!”
Christian, meanwhile, had rejoined M. Goefle, at Stollborg. The doctor of laws was in great triumph. He had forced the lock of one of the great wardrobes in the guard-room, and had found some feminine garments, which were quite magnificent.
“These things,” he said to Christian, “must certainly be a remnant of the wardrobe of the Baroness Hilda; either forgotten, or religiously preserved by Stenson. They will do nicely for costumes, they are so thoroughly old-fashioned. They belong twenty years back, at least. See if you can’t get into one of them. The baroness was tall, and it’s no harm if your dress should be a little short. I mean to contrive a sultan’s dress for myself, with my pelisse and a turban of some kind. You can help me get one up, Christian; you are an artist. Every artist must know how to make a turban.”
Christian was not at all intoxicated, and the burglarious performance of M. Goefle rather disturbed him.
“People are always accusing persons in my line of such things,” he said, “and generally with some reason. You will see that this will make me trouble.”
“Bah! bah! I am here,” cried M. Goefle; “I will take all the responsibility. Come, Christian, put on this dress! Try it, at any rate!”
“My dear M. Goefle,” said Christian, “just let me swallow something or other, no matter what; I am dying of hunger.”
“Sure enough! But be quick.”
“Besides,” said Christian, who, standing as he was, began at the same time to eat his supper and to examine the clothes that were displayed before him, “I don’t know how it is, but I feel a sort of reluctance to touch those old relics. The fate of that poor Baroness Hilda was such a sad one! Do you know that I have been growing more and more suspicious about the manner of her death?”
“Go to the devil!” answered M. Goefle. “I am not in the mood for figuring over all those old stories now. I want to laugh and fly about. Come, come, Christian, to work! let those melancholy notions go over until to-morrow. See—put on this polonaise dress; it’s splendid. If you can only get your shoulders through it, the rest will come right of itself.”