duke. His people had expected great things of him when he was only crown
prince, and he did not disappoint them when he came to the throne. Every
one had loved him. Under his leadership the army had marched from one
victory to another. While he held the sceptre one abundant harvest
followed another, and he had married the most beautiful and most
virtuous daughter of the mightiest prince in the kingdom.

In the midst of a hot conflict, and at the moment that his own army sent
up a shout of victory, he met his death. Everything that the heart
of man could desire had been accorded to him, except the one joy of
possessing a son and heir. But he had left the world in the hope that
that wish, too, would be fulfilled.

Black banners floated from the battlements of the castle, the columns at
its entrance were wreathed in crape, the gold state-coaches were painted
black, and the manes and tails of the duke's horses bound with ribbons
of the same sombre hue. The master of the hunt had the gaily-colored
birds in the park dyed, the schoolmaster had the copy-books of the
boys covered with black, the merry minstrels in the land sang only sad
strains, and every subject wore mourning. When the ruby-red nose of the
guardian of the Court cellar gradually changed to a bluish tint during
this time, the Court marshal thought it only natural. Even the babies
were swaddled in black bands. And besides all this outward show, the
hearts too were sad, and saddest of all was that of the young widowed
duchess. She also had laid aside all bright colours, and went about in
deepest mourning, only her eyes, despite the Court orders in regard to
sombre hues, were bright red from weeping.

She would have wished to die that she might not be separated from her
husband, save for a sweet, all-powerful hope which held her to this
world; and the prospect of holy duties, like faint rays of sunshine,
threw their light over her future, which would otherwise have seemed as
dark as the habits of the Court about her.

Thus five long months passed. On the first morning of the sixth month
cannon thundered from the citadel of the capital. One salvo followed
another, making the air tremble, but the firing did not waken the
citizens, for not one of them had closed an eye the foregoing night,
which, according to the oldest inhabitants, had been unprecedented. From
the rocky district on the north shore of the lake, where Misdral lived,
a fearful thunder-storm had arisen