“Any one who desires to become your pupil must be a remarkably silly fellow,” observed the dwarf. “If he is there, let him show himself. Come out, whoever you are, and I’ll know how you ventured into this house without leave.”
The Count, on hearing this, stepped forth from his hiding-place. “Honest man, pray understand, in the first place, that I have no desire to become the pupil of this philosophical gentleman, that I most unintentionally entered the house, and shall be extremely obliged to you if you will let me out as soon as possible,” he said; and he briefly explained how he had happened to get into the loft.
“That being the case, as soon as I have secured this poor old man for the night, I will show you out into the street,” answered the dwarf; and taking hold of the lamp with one hand and with the other grasping the arm of the philosopher, who moved on as meekly as a lamb, he led the way up the steps, the Count following close behind. After proceeding along several passages he reached a door, when, producing a key from his pocket, he opened it.
“Go in,” he said to the philosopher, “and wait till I come back.” The latter obeyed, and the dwarf locked him in.
“Now, Mynheer,” he said, “having disposed of that poor old fellow for the present, I will show you the way out into the street; but take care you do not fall into the canal. You will not find any hotel in this part of the town fit for a gentleman of your rank; but if you go on straight before you and then turn to the right, then to the left, then to the right again, you may possibly meet with your friend whom you desire to find; if not, a watchman will take charge of you, should he not lock you up, and will help you to find an hotel.”
This was not altogether satisfactory, for the Count doubted very much whether he should be able to follow the directions he had received; but he wanted to get into the open air, and he hoped that he should somehow or other find his way. He was not in the best possible mood, and had little expectation of finding the Baron; he was desperately hungry, and was afraid that his portmanteau was lost, which would certainly be the case if the sloop had gone to the bottom. However, finding himself in the open air, he went along what appeared to be a narrow road, with houses on one side and a canal on the other. The odour which rose from the latter in the night air was far from pleasant, but he soon got accustomed to it. He was inclined to shout out the Baron’s name as he went along, but it occurred to him that some of the watchers of the night might accuse him of being a disorderly person, and carry him off to prison, though whenever he saw anyone approaching he asked in a subdued tone, “Is that you, Baron Stilkin?” But no one acknowledged himself to be the Baron. Thus the Count went on, no one impeding his progress. According to the dwarfs advice, he did turn to the left and then to the right, then to the left again, and turned several times, till he forgot how many times he had turned or where he was. For a long time he met no one of whom to inquire the way. At last he heard footsteps approaching. “Is that you. Baron Stilkin?” he asked, as he had done before.
“What, whose voice is that?” exclaimed some one.
The Count, hoping that it was the Baron, replied, “Count Funnibos.”
“What, my dear Count, is it you yourself?” exclaimed Baron Stilkin, for he it was, and, rushing into each other’s arms, they wept, overcome by their feelings. The Count narrated the extraordinary adventures he had met with.
“And what about our portmanteaus and umbrellas? what will become of them?” exclaimed the Baron.