The Electress did not reply, but held her son warmly to her heart, and then, wringing his hand hard, pressed her overflowing eyes upon his shoulder. After a few moments, Frederic gently disengaged himself and took a step away--turned for another embrace--and then, bursting from her, strode across the hall, followed by the crowd of gentlemen around.
The Electress gazed after him with a sad and solemn look, then clasped her hands without lifting her bended head, and exclaimed, "There goes the Palatinate into Bohemia."
The Elector paused not to listen, for he felt his emotions overpowering him; and, doubtless, the sound of many feet drowned the words ere they reached his ears. As soon as he appeared in the court, a shout, not like an English cheer, but sufficiently expressive of gratulation, welcomed his approach; and a number of voices exclaimed, "Long live Frederic, King of Bohemia."
The Elector raised his plumed hat and bowed, exclaiming the next moment,--"To horse, gentlemen, to horse! There are too many sweet ties and dear memories here. We must break away;" and, crossing the court on foot, he passed for the last time through the deep archway of his hereditary castle, followed by the crowd of noble and enthusiastic gentlemen who had assembled to accompany him. Beyond the gate tower he sprang upon the back of a magnificent horse, which two grooms, running in haste, led up to the farther side of the drawbridge.
His followers hurried to mount; and, in a moment after, the cavalcade was descending the hill. The fresh and fiery chargers were eager to dash on; some reared and plunged; some pulled hard at the rein; but, strange to say, the horse of the young King, though unquestionably the finest and most powerful animal of the whole group, full of life, vigour, and activity, stumbled at the first step and well nigh fell. Never, even in the augury-loving days of the old Romans, was there a time when omens of any kind were more eagerly watched, or produced a deeper impression on the minds of men; and it was easy to see a grave and distressed look spread over the countenances of many of the young monarch's followers, as they marked this untoward accident.
"That is unfortunate," said the younger Christian of Anhalt, who was riding near Algernon Grey.
"Nay, rather fortunate that the horse did not fall," replied the Englishman; "but do you really put any faith in such indications?"
"Not I," answered the Prince; "but omens often make misfortunes, though they don't predict them. The courage of half a score amongst us is already cooled by that horse's stumble; and I have heard of a battle lost by the first look of a comet's tail. Heaven send us no more such auguries, or we shall reach Prague with cold hearts."
"Mine is cold enough already," answered Algernon Grey, who had determined, during the expedition before him, to throw away the reserve which had so long overshadowed him, and cultivate, by frankness, the regard of those who were to be his companions for many months; "mine is cold enough already, though, Heaven knows, not cold in the cause of your noble Prince."
"Ay, and what has chilled it?" asked Christian of Anhalt.