This speech was delivered over the mouthpiece of the vice-palatine's meerschaum.
"I fancy I can enlighten you," responded the doctor.
"I thought it likely that the 'county clock' could tell us something about it," laughingly interpolated the vice-palatine.
"You may laugh as much as you like, but I always tell what is true," retorted the "county clock." "They say that the baroness was betrothed to a gentleman from Bavaria, that the wedding-day was set, when the bridegroom heard that the lady he was about to marry was—"
"Hush!" hastily whispered the justice; "the servants might hear you."
"Oh, it is n't anything scandalous. All that the bridegroom heard was that the baroness was a Lutheran; and as the matrimonia mixta are forbidden in Vienna and in Bavaria, the bridegroom withdrew from the engagement. In her grief over the affair, the sposa repudiata said farewell to the world, and determined to wear the parta[[2]] for the remainder of her days. That is why she chose this remote region as a residence."
[2] A head-covering worn only by Hungarian maidens.
Here the bell in the church tower began to ring. It was followed by a roar from the mortars on the hilltop.
The gypsy band began to play Biharis's "Vierzigmann Marsch"; a cloud of dust rose from the highway; and soon afterward there appeared an outrider with three ostrich-plumes in his hat. He was followed by a four-horse coach, with coachman and footman on the box.
The committee of reception came forth from the shade of the beech and ranged themselves underneath the arch. The clergyman for the last time took his little black book from his pocket, and satisfied himself that his speech was still in it. The coach stopped, and it was discovered that no one occupied it; only the discarded shawl and traveling-wraps told that women had been riding in the conveyance.