There were a thousand doors, and what wonder that, after he had once lost sight of them, the intrepid Childe should not be able to follow in their steps?
As might be expected, he took the wrong door, and wandered for at least three hours about the dark enormous solitary castle, calling out Wolfgang's name to the careless and indifferent echoes, knocking his young shins against the ruins scattered in the darkness, but still with a spirit entirely undaunted, and a firm resolution to aid his absent comrade.

Brave Otto! thy exertions were rewarded at last! For he lighted at length upon the very apartment where Wolfgang had partaken of supper, and where the old couple who had been in the picture-frames, and turned out to be the lady's father and mother, were now sitting at the table.
"Well, Bertha has got a husband at last," said the lady.
"After waiting four hundred and fifty-three years for one, it was quite time," said the gentleman.

(He was dressed in powder and a pigtail, quite in the old fashion.) "The husband is no great things," continued the lady, taking snuff.

"A low fellow, my dear; a butcher's son, I believe.

Did you see how the wretch ate at supper?
To think my daughter should have to marry an archer!" "There are archers and archers," said the old man.