She stepped out into the passage-way and heard the tones of the organ in the palace-chapel.  For the first time in her life these sounds displeased her.  “It don’t belong in the house,” thought she, “where all sorts of things are going on.  The church ought to stand by itself.”

When she returned to the room, she found a stranger there.  Mademoiselle Kramer informed her that this was the tailor to the Queen.

Walpurga laughed outright at the notion of a “tailor to the Queen.”  The elegantly attired person looked at her in amazement, while Mademoiselle Kramer explained to her that this was the dressmaker to her Majesty the Queen, and that he had come to take her measure for three new dresses.

“Am I to wear city clothes?”

“God forbid!  You’re to wear the dress of your neighborhood, and can order a stomacher in red, blue, green, or any color that you like best.”

“I hardly know what to say; but I’d like to have a workday suit too.  Sunday clothes on week-days—­that won’t do.”

“At court one always wears Sunday clothes, and when her Majesty drives out again you will have to accompany her.”

“A11 right, then.  I won’t object.”

While he took her measure, Walpurga laughed incessantly, and he was at last obliged to ask her to hold still, so that he might go on with his work.  Putting his measure into his pocket, he informed Mademoiselle Kramer that he had ordered an exact model, and that the master of ceremonies had favored him with several drawings, so that there might be no doubt of success.

Finally he asked permission to see the Crown Prince.  Mademoiselle Kramer was about to let him do so, but Walpurga objected.

“Before the child is christened,” said she, “no one shall look at it just out of curiosity, and least of all a tailor, or else the child will never turn out the right sort of man.”

The tailor took his leave, Mademoiselle Kramer having politely hinted to him that nothing could be done with the superstition of the lower orders, and that it would not do to irritate the nurse.

This occurrence induced Walpurga to administer the first serious reprimand to Mademoiselle Kramer.  She could not understand why she was so willing to make an exhibition of the child.  “Nothing does a child more harm than to let strangers look at it in its sleep, and a tailor at that.”

All the wild fun with which, in popular songs, tailors are held up to scorn and ridicule, found vent in Walpurga, and she began singing:—­

     “Just list, ye braves, who love to roam! 
     A snail was chasing a tailor home. 
     And if Old Shears hadn’t run so fast,
     The snail would surely have caught him at last.”

Mademoiselle Kramer’s acquaintance with the court tailor had lowered her in Walpurga’s esteem; and with an evident effort to mollify the latter, Mademoiselle Kramer asked:—­

“Does the idea of your new and beautiful clothes really afford you no pleasure?”