The tire-woman, who had been anxiously awaiting the summons, appeared immediately, and approached her mistress, in great haste to commence.
"Katharina," began the duchess, "do not be provoked if I reject the magnificent attire you have prepared for me to-night. I cannot wear it."
Katharina drew back in terror. "So your royal highness does not intend to appear at court to-night?"
"I intend to appear there, because I am compelled to do so," returned the duchess; "but I do not know that it is incumbent upon me to be as gay as a peacock, on the occasion of my poor Philip's betrothal to that girl of De Montespan's. To me it is more like a funeral than a festival, so you may get out my suit of court mourning. The skirt of black velvet, the train and head-dress of purple."
"Is the Empress of Austria dead, that your royal highness should wear purple?" asked Katharina. [Footnote: At the court of Louis XIV., purple velvet was worn in the deepest mourning only.]
"A personage of more consequence to me than the Empress of Austria is dead—an angel has taken her flight to heaven, and no royal princess can replace her here below. Hush, Kathi—you need not open your mouth to remonstrate, for my purple mourning I will wear, and nobody in France shall hinder me."
Katharina knew this so well, that she inclined her head, and went off in search of the costume, which, as Elizabeth-Charlotte never lingered before her looking-glass, was donned in less than a quarter of an hour. She returned to her cabinet, and gave a quick glance at her image, as she passed before a large Venetian mirror, that reached from floor to ceiling. She smiled, and began an apostrophe to herself, after the following manner:
"You are unquestionably a homely woman; and, in the finery that decks royalty, you look somewhat like the scarecrows I have seen in gardens at home. But, soberly clad as you are at this moment, you are not an unsightly or undignified woman, nor would my poor murdered darling despise me, were she to see me now. Ah, Laura! would that the battle of life were over for me, as it is for thee! For the world has apportioned to me much vexation, but little happiness."
She turned away from the mirror, with a sigh. "Well, I may not mourn any longer. I must put on my court-face, and sing with old Luther:"
"It must be so,
That pain and woe
Will ever follow sin;
Then go your ways—"