"The Emperor's page," cried Adelaide; some degree of alarm mingling with her surprise.
Bertha, however, advanced up the hall with a timid and downcast look, and glowing cheek, not at all with her usual gay and light-hearted air and countenance; her steps were slow and hesitating; her bright eye veiling itself under the sweeping lashes, and her hands, with the invariable sign of bashful hesitation, playing with the tassels of her bodice. Behind her came the page, with his plumed bonnet in his hand, and more of sheepishness in his air, too, than was usual with himself or any page of the day. But the matter was soon explained, though in somewhat broken sentences.
"Please you, my lord," said Bertha, presenting herself before the Count; "here's one of the Emperor's pages--"
"I was, pretty Bertha," interrupted the young man; "but I am now out of my pagehood."
"And he has come to ask a question," said Bertha.
"To which I have got an answer," said the page, twirling round his bonnet gaily, but casting down his eyes at the same time.
"Not yet, master Karl," rejoined Bertha, quickly; "I told you it must depend upon the will of my lord and lady."
"Oh, but they won't refuse if you wish it," cried the youth.
"Who told you I wished it?" exclaimed Bertha. "I only said that sooner than break your heart--and you know you swore more than twenty times that it would if I refused--I would marry you, just to save you from drowning, or a halter, or some other bad kind of death; but that is not to say that I wish it. On the contrary, I will do what my lord and lady think fit. I am quite passive, and do nothing but out of pure benevolence;" and she clasped her pretty hands before her, and rolled one thumb round the other with the most indifferent air in the world.
"Has inclination no share in it, my fair one?" said the Count, with a smile; "if so, I think I shall withhold my consent; for such indifferent marriages are never happy ones."