"All talk,--nothing else," replied Albert; "I know for certain, that a reconciliation may take place between the Duke and Bavaria."
"Yes; but there is a great difference between may and will take place: thereby hangs many a difficult crotchet to unravel. But what do I see? you are not going to put that old rag of a scarf over your new wedding dress? they will not match together, my dear cousin."
The bridegroom regarded the scarf with a look of intense interest. "You don't understand," he replied, "why I set such a value upon it. It was Bertha's first present; she worked it secretly by night, in her room, when the news came that she was soon to leave Tübingen. It was my only consolation when I was absent from her, and therefore I will not fail to wear it on the happiest day of my life."
"Well, do as you please, in God's name, wear it! And now put on your cap, and be quick with the mantle, for they are beginning to ring the bells of the church. Beware of making the bride wait too long!"
The friendly scribe stood before the young man again, and minutely examined his dress with the eye of a connoisseur. He drew a buckle a little tighter here, he altered a plait of his mantle there, raised a feather of his cap higher, and having satisfied himself that nothing was wanting to adorn the person of the bridegroom, he thought his tall, manly figure, his fine head, and animated eye, were worthy the love of his pretty cousin. "I declare," said he, "you look as if you were created especially for a bridegroom. I would like Marie to see you now; poor girl, she would certainly be troubled with giddiness for a week! But come, come; I feel proud in being your companion upon this occasion, though I shall be fourteen days later in Ulm than I ought to be."
Albert blushed,--his heart beat quicker,--when he left the room. Joy, expectation, the fulfilment of year-long wishes assailed his feelings, as he followed his friend Dieterich through the galleries to the apartment where the assembled company awaited his arrival. The doors opened,--and Bertha stood in all the brilliancy of her beauty, surrounded by many women and maidens, whom the Duke had invited to form the nuptial procession.
When she perceived her lover enter the room, and met his glance, modest confusion spread a deep blush over her features, as she returned his salutation. The intoxicating joy of this moment would have led Albert to impress a morning salute of love upon her lips, but he was restrained by the strict manners of the times upon such occasions to observe a serious distant demeanour. A bride, according to etiquette, was not permitted to touch the hand of the bridegroom before the priest had joined them together, nor were they allowed to approach each other within six paces. To look even exclusively at her future husband before the ceremony was performed was deemed indecorous. She observed, therefore, the precise rule of remaining with cast-down looks, modest and demure, with her hands crossed before her. Such were the customs of the olden times of the country.
To any other person in a similar situation, the position in which she stood might have imparted to the beholder a stiff and awkward appearance; but as nature endows her choicest daughters under all circumstances, whether in grief or joy, with a charm of interest which attracts even the most superficial observer, so did Bertha, on the present occasion, give to the restrained attitude of a bride in those days, an ease and grace which elicited the admiration of the surrounding spectators. The soft blush which rested on her features, the smile playing about her delicate-formed mouth, the brilliancy of her dark blue eyes, shooting their rays through the dark long eyelashes, like the rising sun dispersing the morning mist, formed a picture of unaffected loveliness, fit for the pencil of the artist.
The Duke entered the room, leading the knight of Lichtenstein by the hand. His eye rapidly passed through the circle of ladies, and he decidedly gave to Bertha the palm of beauty. "Sturmfeder," said he, taking him aside, "this day rewards you for many services. Do you recollect that night, when you first visited me in the cavern, and did not know who I was? Hans, the fifer, gave us a toast, 'the lady of Lichtenstein, long may she bloom for you!' she is yours now, and what is not less true, the toast you gave is also fulfilled, for we are again established in the castle of our fathers."
"May your grace enjoy your prosperity as long as I hope to be happy by the side of Bertha. But I am indebted to your interference and kindness for this day, for without it her father perhaps----"