As if to try the effect of the ornaments, Dame Hadwig now walked with stately steps through the chamber. Her attitude seemed to challenge admiration, but the hall was empty; even the cat had slunk away. Mirrors there were none on the walls, and as for the furniture, its adaptation to comfort was but small, according to our present views.
Praxedis' thoughts were still busy with the subject just discussed. "My gracious Mistress," said she, "I nevertheless felt very sorry for him."
"Sorry for whom?"
"For the emperor's son. He said that you had appeared to him in a dream, and that all his happiness depended upon you."
"Let the dead rest," said Dame Hadwig testily, "I had rather that you took your guitar and sang me the Greek ditty:
"Constantine thou foolish lad,
Constantine leave off thy weeping!"
"The lute is broken, and all the strings torn, since my Lady Duchess pleased to ..."
"To throw it at the head of Count Boso of Burgundy," said Dame Hadwig. "That was well done indeed, for who told him to come uninvited to Sir Burkhard's funeral, and to preach to me, as if he were a saint?--So we will have the lute mended, and meanwhile, my Greek treasure, canst thou tell me, why I have donned these glittering ornaments to-day?"
"God is all-knowing," said the Greek maid, "I cannot tell."
After this she was silent. So was Dame Hadwig, and there ensued one of those long significant pauses generally preceding self-knowledge. At last the Duchess said: "Well to say the truth I don't know myself!"--and looking dismally at the floor, added: "I believe I did it from ennui. But then the top of the Hohentwiel is but a dreary nest,--especially for a widow. Praxedis, dost thou know a remedy against dullness?"