Time moved at a snail’s pace, and she already fancied her heart could no longer endure its violent throbbing, when at last—­at last—­the heavy oak chairs were pushed noisily back over the stone floor of the dining hall.

From the balcony of the audience chamber a flourish of trumpets echoed loudly along the arches of the lofty, vaulted ceiling of the apartment, and the Emperor, leading the company, crossed the threshold attended by several dignitaries, the court jesters, and some pages.

His august sister, the Burgravine Elizabeth, leaned on his arm.  The papal ambassador, Doria, in the brilliant robe of a cardinal, followed, escorting the Duchess Agnes, but he parted from her in the hall.  Among many other secular and ecclesiastical princes and dignitaries appeared also Count von Montfort and his daughter, the old First Losunger of Nuremberg, Berthold Vorchtel, and Herr Pfinzing with his wife.

Several guests from the city entered at the same time through another door, among whom, robed in handsome festal garments, were Eva’s new Swabian acquaintances.  How gladly she would have hastened to them!  But a grey-haired stately man of portly figure, whose fur-trimmed cloak hung to his ankles—­Sir Arnold Maier of Silenen, led them to a part of the hall very distant from where she was standing.

To make amends, Count von Montfort and Cordula came very near her; but she could not greet them.  Each person—­she felt it—­must remain in his or her place.  And the restraint became stronger as the Duchess Agnes, giving one guest a nod, another a few words, advanced nearer and nearer, pausing at last beside Count von Montfort.

The old huntsman advanced respectfully towards the Bohemian princess, and Eva heard the fourteen-year-old wife ask, “Well, Count, how fares your wish to find the right husband for your wilful daughter?”

“Of course it must be fulfilled, Duchess, since your Highness deigned to approve it,” he answered, with his hand upon his heart.

“And may his name be known?” she queried with evident eagerness, her dark eyes sparkling brightly and a faint flush tingeing the slight shade of tan on her child face.

“The duty of a knight and paternal weakness unfortunately still seal my lips,” he answered.  “Your Highness knows best that a lady’s wish—­even if she is your own child—­is a command.”

“You are praised as an obedient father,” replied the Bohemian with a slight shrug of the shoulders.  “Yet you probably need not conceal whether the happy man, who is not only encouraged, but this time also chosen by the charming huntress of many kinds of game, is numbered among our guests.”

“Unfortunately he is denied the pleasure, your Highness,” replied the count; but Cordula, who had noticed Eva, and had heard the Duchess Agnes’s last words, approached her royal foe, and with a low, reverential bow, said:  “My poor heart must imagine him far away from here amid peril and privation.  Instead of breaking ladies’ hearts, he is destroying the castles of robber knights and disturbers of the peace of the country.”