A clear mountain brook, running between alders and weeping-willows, and under many a rustic bridge, emptied into the lake, flowing thence through the valley until it reached the river, bright glimpses of which might here and there be caught through openings in the shrubbery.
Tables, chairs and benches of graceful form had been placed under the trees and at various points that commanded a fine prospect.
Seated near the chapel there was a man of impressive appearance. His dress betokened scrupulous care. His thick hair was as white as his cravat. His eyes were blue and sparkling, and full of youthful fire. He looked out upon the broad landscape, the valley crowded with fruit-trees, the near-lying hills, and the mountain beyond, whose lines stood out in bold relief against the blue sky above. He had a book in his hand, but now laid it aside and drank in the peaceful influences of the scene before him.
The great door of the chapel was open: the mighty sounds of the organ were heard; a soft cloud of incense floated out on the morning air and then vanished into space.
This impressive-looking man was the king's physician, Doctor Gunther, who, being a Protestant, had not attended mass.
Just then, a beautiful woman, carrying an open sunshade, stepped out from the veranda which was almost concealed by trellised vines. She wore a full, white robe, and her headdress was a simple morning cap with blue ribbons. Her bright, rosy face beamed with youth and beauty; her hair was of a golden hue and she seemed the very incarnation of glorious day.
The doctor, hearing the rustling of her dress, had at once advanced and made his obeisance.
"Good-morning, doctor!" said the lady, whose two female companions had kept a few steps to the rear. Her voice was not clear and bright, but suggestive of the soulful violoncello-tone which is more properly the vehicle of intense and fervent feeling, than of loud-voiced joy.
"What a charming day!" continued the lady; "and yet, for that very reason, doubly sad to those who are obliged to pass it in a sick-room. How is our dear Countess Brinkenstein?"
"The countess, may it please Your Majesty, may safely take the air for an hour to-day."