It was the second day after the wedding. On the first evening the opera of "Orpheus and Eurydice" had been triumphantly represented before the elite of the city. A second representation had been called for by the delighted audience, although at the imperial palace a magnificent mask ball was to be given, for which two thousand invitations had been issued. It was a splendid confusion of lights, jewels, velvet, satins, and flowers. All the nations of the world had met in that imperial ballroom; not only mortals, but fairies, sylphides, and heathen gods and goddesses. It was a bewildering scene, that crowd of fantastic revellers, whose faces were every one hidden by velvet masks, through which dark eyes glittered, like stars upon the blackness of the night.
The imperial family alone appeared without masks. Maria Theresa, in a dress of blue velvet, studded with golden embroidery, her fair white forehead encircled by a coronet of diamonds and sapphires, walked among her guests with enchanting smiles and gracious words. She leaned upon the arm of the King of Rome, who, looking more cheerful than usual, chatted gayly with his mother or with the crowd around them. Near them were the Grand Duke Leopold and his bride, so absorbed in one another that it was easy to see that they at least were happy in their affections. Behind them flocked the young archduchesses, who were enjoying the ball to the utmost. Whenever the empress approached a group of her guests, they stood in respectful silence while she and her handsome family passed by: but as soon as she had left them, their admiration burst forth in every imaginable form of words. The empress, who overheard these murmured plaudits, smiled proudly upon her young daughters, who, even if they had been no archduchesses, would still have been the handsomest girls in Austria.
While the empress, in the full splendor of her rank and beauty, was representing the sovereign of Austria, the emperor, mingling with the guests, was taking the liberty of amusing himself as ordinary mortals love to do at a masked ball. On his arm hung a mask of most graceful figure, but so completely was she disguised that nothing could be ascertained with regard to her name or rank. Some whispered that it was the emperor's new favorite, the Countess of Auersberg.
As the pair went by, the emperor overheard the conjectures of the crowd, and he turned with a smile to the lady who accompanied him.
"Do not fear," said he; "there is no danger of your being recognized. You are mistaken for another lady. I promised you that you should meet Joseph here, and I will keep my promise. Let us try to make our way through the crowd, that we may join him as soon as possible; for I feel oppressed this evening, I know not why."
"Oh, then, your majesty, let me go back into the anteroom," said the veiled lady. "I begin to feel all the rashness of my undertaking, and although it has the sanction of your majesty and the empress, I feel like a criminal, every moment dreading discovery. Let us go back."
"No, no," replied the emperor, "let us remain until the interview with Joseph is over. I shall feel no better in the anteroom than here. I never shall be well until I leave this beautiful, fearful Tyrol. Its mountains weigh heavily upon my head and my breast. But let us sit down awhile. I love to listen to the people's talk, when the court is not by."
"But while your majesty is present the court is here," said the lady.
"Not so, my dear," whispered the emperor; "the empress and my children are the court, I am but a private nobleman. Ah, there they come! See how beautiful and stately the empress looks! Who would suppose that this grown-up family were her children!—But she, she signs us to approach. Take courage, and await me here."
So saying, the emperor hastened toward his wife, who received him with a loving smile of welcome.