The closing of the iron portals of the vault terminated the ceremony, and the procession wound its way to the castle, where tables were spread in different rooms for the nobility, the students and the domestics.
The old priest, however, lingered behind and, while all the rest turned their faces toward the castle, took his daughter by the hand and went another way. In vain had a cover been laid for him in the great hall of the castle.
CHAPTER III.
TWO GOOD FRIENDS.
In a splendid hall formed entirely of malachite—its slender columns hewn each from a single block and resembling tropical tree-trunks, its niches filled with rare exotic plants, its centre occupied by a mammoth aquarium, and its arched doorways each affording a glimpse into a seemingly endless series of other magnificent apartments—was gathered a brilliant company. Among the gold-trimmed and order-bedecked costumes of the men was occasionally seen the plain black attire of an attaché to some embassy, and not infrequently these soberly clad young men received quite as much attention from the ladies as did the cavaliers in gaudier array.
One such black-clothed figure seemed to be the object of unusual interest. His handsome face showed at once youth, high birth, and an air of modesty and refinement. A woman might well have envied him his large blue eyes, shaded by their long lashes; but his noble profile, finely cut lips, and tall and slender, although muscular and elastic, form betokened the early maturity of vigorous manhood.
A gentleman in a dazzling military uniform, with a diamond order on his breast and a silk sash extending over his shoulder and down to his hip, addressed the young man and linked his arm in his. He had known the youthful attaché's father, whom he esteemed as an able and highly gifted man, and he prophesied a yet more brilliant career for the son. As he drew him forth in his promenade, he told him to prepare to be presented to the grand-duchess.
It was a formidable ordeal for a young and unknown man, who had not even a uniform to brace his courage, to be summoned before one of the greatest ladies of the vast empire, in the presence of so many august dignitaries, and to be called upon to frame, on the instant, suitable replies to her questions, and perhaps to repay her gracious words with an improvised compliment or two.
But he stood the test, and many more beside. Dancing began, and on his arm floated one charming partner after another, each a type of beauty and grace. The lovely Princess Alexandra, only daughter of a Russian noble, a blonde beauty whose golden locks seemed to have been spun out of sunbeams, had whirled around the room twice on his arm when, as they again reached her seat, she gave him a stealthy pressure of the hand, as much as to say, "Once more!"—and so they danced around the hall a third time. It was a piece of boldness on her part that is seldom committed except out of wantonness or—love.
The youth bowed, and left his partner, feeling neither weariness nor any undue quickening of the pulse. There was a charm about him which lay in his calm, passionless bearing, and his unfailing self-control where other young men would have shown excitement. Royal pomp and splendour did not appeal to him, nor did beautiful eyes, sweet words, or the secret pressure of a fair hand rob him of his self-possession.