Countess Brinkenstein, whose appearance was even more austere than on the first evening, was engrossed with her official duties; this was no time for her to be ill.
She cautioned Walpurga, who walked beside her, to be very careful how she carried the prince, and earnestly enjoined her not to withdraw her arms until she felt quite certain that the prince was safely in his godfather's arms.
"Of course I won't; I'm not that stupid," said Walpurga.
"I require no answer from you." Countess Brinkenstein was vexed at Walpurga. She was indeed displeased with the queen, who, she thought, was spoiling the poor servant, but found it more convenient to vent her resentment upon Walpurga than upon so exalted a personage as her majesty.
The various groups were chatting and laughing in as careless a tone as if they were in a ball-room instead of a church.
The lord steward, who had stationed himself at the altar, inquired whether all were in readiness.
"Yes," was answered from various quarters, amid much laughter.
Walpurga looked up at the image of the Virgin, which she had seen by the light of the everlasting lamp on the evening of her arrival, – it was the first time she saw it by daylight-and said: "Thou, too, must look on while they rehearse." She now fully understood Mademoiselle Kramer's remark that, for royalty, everything must be arranged in advance. But was it right to do so with sacred matters? It must be, thought she, or they wouldn't do it. The court chaplain was there too, but not in his ecclesiastical robes. She saw him taking a pinch from the golden snuff-box of the lord steward, with whom he was talking just as if they were in the street.
And so this is the rehearsal, thought Walpurga to herself, when Countess Brinkenstein approached and said that, as she now knew her place for the morrow, she might go. She also ordered Walpurga to wear white cotton gloves, and said that she would send her several pairs.
Walpurga went out by way of the throne-room and the picture-gallery. Without looking about her, she walked through numerous apartments, and suddenly found herself standing before a large, dark room. The door was open, but she could not see where it led to. She turned in alarm, for she had lost her way. All was silent as death. She looked out of the window and saw a street that she had never seen before. She knew not where she was, and hurried on; from a distance, she could see strange men and beasts and places on the walls, and suddenly she uttered a shriek of terror, for the devil himself, black as pitch, came toward her, gnashing his teeth.
"O Lord! Forgive me! I'll never be proud and vain again! I'll be good and honest," she cried aloud, wringing her hands.
"What are you making such a noise about? who are you?" exclaimed the devil.
"I'm Walpurga, from the lake; and I've a child and husband and mother, at home. I was brought here to be the crown prince's nurse, but indeed, I didn't want to come."
"Indeed! and so you're the nurse. I rather like your looks."
"But I don't want you, or any one else, to like my looks. I've a husband of my own and want nothing to do with other men."
The black fellow laughed heartily.
"Then what were you doing in my master's apartments?"
"Who's your master? I've nothing to do with him. I and all good spirits praise God the Lord! Speak! What is it you want of me?"
"Oh, you stupid! My master is the queen's brother. I'm his valet de chambre. We arrived here last evening."
Walpurga could not understand what it all meant. Luckily for her, at that moment, the duke and the king came out of the apartment.
Addressing the Moor in English, the duke inquired what had happened; answering in the same tongue, the Moor said that the peasant woman had taken him for the devil incarnate; upon hearing which, the duke and the king laughed heartily.
"What brings you here?" inquired the king.
"I lost my way, after leaving the chapel," replied Walpurga. "My child will cry. Do please show me the way back to him."
The king instructed one of the lackeys to conduct her to her apartments. While going away she overheard the uncle, who was to be chief sponsor, saying: "What a fine milch-cow you've brought from the Highlands!"
When she had returned to her room, and again beheld herself in the large mirror, she said:
"You're nothing but a cow that can chatter, and is dressed up in clothes! Well, it served you right."
CHAPTER XVII
The night was a bad one. The crown prince suffered because of the fright which the Moor had given his foster-mother. Doctor Gunther sat up all night, in the adjoining room, so as to be within ready call, and was constant in his inquiries as to Walpurga and the child. He instructed Mademoiselle Kramer never again to allow the nurse to leave the room without his permission.
To Walpurga this imprisonment was welcome, as she wished to have nothing more to do with the whole world; for the child filled her soul and, while she lay on the sofa, she vowed to God that nothing else should enter her mind. She looked at the new clothes that were spread out on the large table and shook her head; she no longer cared for the trumpery. Indeed, she almost hated it, for had it not led her into evil? and had not the punishment quickly followed?
Walpurga's sleep was broken and fitful, and whenever she closed her eyes, she beheld herself pursued by the Moor. It was not until near daybreak, that she and the child slept soundly. The great ceremony could therefore take place at the appointed time.
Baum brought the beautiful pillows and the brocaded coverlet embroidered with two wild animals. While passing Walpurga, he softly whispered:
"Keep a brave heart, so that you don't get sick again; for if you do, they will discharge you at once. I mean well by you, and that's why I say so."
He said this without moving a feature, for Mademoiselle Kramer was to know nothing of it.
Walpurga looked after him in amazement; and Baum, indeed, presented quite an odd appearance, in his gray linen undress uniform.
"And so they'll send you away when you get sick," thought she to herself. "I'm a cow. They're right, There's no longer any room in the stable for a cow that's barren."
"I and thou and the miller's cow-" said she, to the prince, as she again took him to her bosom, while she laughed and sang:
"Cock a doodle doo!
The clock strikes two;
The clock strikes four.
While all sleep and snore.
"Be it palace or cot,
It matters not,
Though they cook sour beets,
Or eat almonds and sweets-
As long as they care
For the little ones there."
Walpurga would have said and sung much more that day, were it not for the constant hurrying to and fro in the prince's apartments. Countess Brinkenstein came in person, and said to Walpurga:
"Have you not all sorts of secret charms which you place under the pillow for the child's sake?"
"Yes, a twig of mistletoe will do, or a nail dropped from a horse-shoe; I'd get them quick enough if I were at home; but I've nothing of the sort here."
Walpurga