ody forced
her into it. And if she is carrying roses now, it is as if a corpse were
singing songs."

Herr Carovius felt most uneasy. He was not accustomed to hearing things
like this. Where he lived people called a spade a spade. He pricked up
his ears and made a wry face. "It is the way he has been trained that
makes him talk like that," he thought; "it is the result of constantly
sitting on gold-embroidered chairs and seeing nothing about him but
paintings."

"I am going to sit on such chairs too," he was happy to think, "and I
shall see the paintings, too." He pictured himself between the Baron and
the Baroness, marching up to the portals of the castle, flanked on
either side by a row of liveried servants, the nervous masses catching
sight of the splendour as well as they might. The rear of this
procession was being brought up by the young Baron, who had returned
home as the penitent Prodigal Son.

"One must have a feeling of personal security," remarked Carovius. He
wondered whether the Baron had reached his majority. Eberhard replied
that he had just completed his twenty-first year, and that certain
things had made him feel that it would be wise to live independent of
his family and to renounce his claims to all family rights for the time
being. What he really had in mind was the desire to avoid, so far as
humanly possible, association with all professional money-lenders.

Herr Carovius felt that this was an extremely serious case. He claimed
moreover to understand it perfectly and to be ready for anything, but
insisted that nothing must be withheld, that he must be given undiluted
wine. He made this remark just as if he were holding a glass of old
Johannisberger out in the rain, sniffing as he did with appreciative
nostrils.

"I am very discreet," he said, "very taciturn." He looked at the Baron
tenderly.

The young Baron nodded.

"The wearer of purple is recognised wherever he goes," continued Herr
Carovius, "and if he lays the purple aside he stands at once in need of
reticent friends. I am reserved."

The Baron nodded again. "If you will permit me, I shall visit you in a
few days." With that he ended the conversation.

He started off toward the Avenue, walking stiffly. It was not hard to
see that he was ill at ease. Herr Carovius walked away with mincing,
merry steps down toward the small end of the alley, singing an aria from
the "Barber of Seville" as he went.

At the end of the first week he wa