He glanced interrogatively at Galeotti; but the Italian merely shrugged his shoulders to express his entire bewilderment. They were walking behind the king now, towards the chapel, which they found dressed with lovely flowers as if for a festival; but Michael was so engrossed in his own thoughts, so sore at heart, and so hurt by what he felt to be the just king's injustice, that he had no attention to spare for anything else.
They took their places; the shrill tones of a bell were heard, and the service began and proceeded quietly to its close.
The king rose up, and was about to leave the chapel, when he stopped short, saying, "So—I was forgetting! Another little ceremony takes place here to-day, of course. Follow me."
With that he turned towards the vestry, Michael following him with listless steps.
The door was opened by some one within; but Michael's eyes were bent upon the ground, and he saw nothing but the marble floor, until Galeotti twitched him by the sleeve and made him look up. Then he saw what filled him first with amazement and next with passionate indignation.
For there before him, like a beautiful dream, stood Esther—his Esther as he felt her to be, in spite of kings and counts—his Esther, robed in white, with a bridal wreath on her head, and looking as fair and pure as a dove!
Michael turned almost as white as the bride's dress. He had been brought to Visegrád to see her married to the count! That was his first collected thought. Could the king, the master whom he had so loved—could he be so cruel, so heartlessly cruel?
For a moment or two Michael was so torn in pieces between his love for Esther and his love and reverence for the king, that he felt as if he were losing his senses, and might say or do something outrageous.
The king stopped and turned towards him, as if he were about to speak; but Michael did not notice it, for his eyes were fixed upon the bride, and he was trying to master himself.
"Mr. Michael Tornay!"