The stick and sunshade were accordingly tied together.

'Do you wish to ascend the tower?' he asked my companion, showing us the
open-work iron staircase winding round and round inside the tower up to
the top.

'Gott Du Allmaechtiger, nein,' was the hasty reply after a glance and a
shudder.

Taking for granted that without my husband I would not want to go up
towers he did not ask me, but at once led the way through a very
charming hall decorated with what are known as trophies of the chase, to
a locked door, before which stood a row of enormous grey felt slippers.

'The public is not allowed to enter the princely apartments unless it
has previously drawn these slippers over its boots,' said the guide as
though he were quoting.

'All of them?' I asked, faintly facetious.

Again he eyed me, but this time in silence.

The man in spectacles thrust his feet into the nearest pair. They were
generously roomy even for him, and he was a big man with boots to match.
I looked down the row hoping to see something smaller, and perhaps
newer, but they were all the same size, and all had been worn repeatedly
by other tourists.

'The next time I come to the Jagdschloss,' I observed thoughtfully, as I
saw my feet disappear into the gaping mouths of two of these woolly
monsters, 'I shall bring my own slippers. This arrangement may be
useful, but no one could call it select.'

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 Bronte would say,
he had come upstairs--he called down to the Fraeulein 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 rushe