ut they must be alive, for their eyes sparkle. She looked up,
but did not recognize the tailor's son, although he was in the line.

The prince's train, with its escort, passed on to the so-called grand
center gallery, where the procession was forming.

Walpurga had been told to seat herself with the prince on the lowest
step of the throne, and when she looked about her she beheld a sea of
splendor and beauty. There were richly embroidered costumes, lovely
women, their heads adorned with flowers, and jewels that sparkled like
dew-drops on the meadow at early morn.

"Good-morning, Walpurga! Pray don't rise," said a pleasant voice,
addressing her. It was Countess Irma. But she had scarcely commenced
speaking to her, when the lord steward thrice struck the floor with his
gold-headed stick, the diamonds on which sparkled brightly.

A train of halberdiers, wearing gay plumes on their helmets, marched in
from a side apartment. And then the king came. He carried his helmet in
his left hand and at his side. His face was radiant with happiness.

At his side walked the duchess, a diamond crown on her head, and with
two pages bearing her long silk train. She was followed by a numerous
and brilliant suite.

Irma had hastened to her appropriate place. The bells were slowly
tolling, and the procession moved. At the entrance of the palace
chapel, the duchess took the child from the nurse and carried it up to
the altar, where priests, clad in splendid robes, were awaiting it, and
where countless lights were burning.

Walpurga followed, feeling as if bereft--not only as if the clothes had
been torn from her body, but as if the body had been rent from her
soul. The child cried aloud, as if aware of what was taking place, but
its voice was drowned by the tones of the organ and choir. The whole
church was filled with a mighty volume of sound, which descended from
the gallery and was echoed back from the floor beneath, like sullen,
muttering thunder. Involuntarily, Walpurga fell on her knees at the
altar--there was no need to order her to do so.

Choir, organ and orchestra burst forth with a mighty volume of sound,
and Walpurga, overwhelmed with awe and surprise, imagined that the end
of the world had come and that the painted angels on the ceiling,--aye,
the very pillars, too--were swelling the heavenly harmonies.

Suddenly all was silent again.

The child received its names. One would not suffice: there were eight;
a whole secti