CHAPTER XVI.
Down in the valley, it had been raining all day long. What had been hail and thunder up among the mountains, had turned to rain, and occasional gleams of blue sky served to show that there was fair weather above.
Toward evening, the storm cleared away. The queen, accompanied by the ladies of her court, among whom Madame Gunther and Paula were now included, was sitting in the large music-room, the doors of which were open. Paula had been singing to the queen, for the first time, and, on account of her embarrassment, Madame Gunther begged that she might not be asked to sing again that day.
The relation between the queen and Madame Gunther was a peculiar one. The queen was charmed with her sincerity and thoroughness, but she found it difficult to accustom herself to the presence of one who was so independent of her. She was, at one time, tempted to regard this as pettiness, for, on the very day that Madame Gunther had accepted the breastpin, she had said to the queen: "Your Majesty, it will never do, unless you accept a present from me in return," saying which, she gave the queen a handsomely bound book, which a brother of hers, a physician residing in America, had written, on the subject of slavery. The queen accepted it with thanks, and Madame Gunther felt quite relieved, although it frequently cost her an effort to translate, as it were, all that she wished to say, in order to clothe it in the proper court costume, for she took a pride in rejecting prescribed forms.
The queen inquired why they saw so little of the elder daughter, the professor's widow. Madame Gunther replied that, as Bronnen and their nephew were visiting them, and as there was much to look after in the house, Cornelia had gladly assumed these duties. It always seemed like a new truth to the queen, or like tidings from some strange world, to find that the daily wants of life required special attention and did not provide for themselves.
The weather exerted a depressing influence on the spirits of all. Here in the country, and especially in this little dairy-farm, where they missed many comforts, and where, on account of the small amount of room, they were prevented from scattering and seeking various diversions, the effects of the weather were all the more noticeable and unpleasant.
Their delight in anticipation of the morrow was all the greater, as it promised to be a bright day.
It was agreed that they should all meet, at dinner, near the second waterfall, and that the king would join them there.
The king was in his cabinet, engaged with Bronnen. The new telegraph was carrying many messages to and fro. Gunther, the intendant, Sixtus and several other gentlemen were smoking their cigars and walking under the drooping trees of the avenue, which the evening sun was now lighting up with a thousand brilliant hues.
The ladies in the music-room maintained that the Alpine glow (Alpenglühen) could be seen that day. They naturally expected to see it daily, although it is an exceedingly rare phenomenon.