“How wonderful it is,” said Ludwig, “but why did the ‘Wise Nun,’ so exact in all else, make the mistake of clothing me in the Landgraf’s robes, instead of Hermann?” Nobody answered, for a peal from the Berchfrid,[8] that rang through every corner of the huge enclosure on the Wartburg, made its way into the women’s apartments, and told those who waited there that they need wait no more. The serving women were busy with their lady’s mantle, and presently the hum of a merry little song, and the ring of a martial (and not quite steady) step was heard along the gallery, and Duke Hermann, somewhat flushed from his mighty potations, but excellently-humoured, came into the “kemenate.” “Art ready to meet thy daughter-in-law, Frau Landgräfin?” he said, jocularly. “If so, there is no time to be lost. What, Ludwig, still at thy mother’s girdle? It fears me much that we shall never make a sturdy drinker and fighter of thee, to keep thy father in countenance.” Over Duchess Sophia’s fine face a shadow fell. She loved this passionate Lord of hers, with all his faults and all his weaknesses. But it was the dearest prayer of her soul to preserve her sons from following the path he trod. As much as lay in her power, she strove to keep them away from the motley company which held revel in the hall of the main building. But Hermann had speedily emancipated himself. “The lust of the eyes, the delight of the flesh, and the pride of life,” had put their fascination on him as soon as he had got clear of the women’s apartments. Ludwig was different. A certain asceticism, answering her own, had early revealed itself in his character. A strength of purpose, a force of self-restraint, a natural attitude of noble aloofness from all that seemed unworthy, made her build high hopes on Ludwig. And as for Hermann, who knew what blessings might be brought him by this child-bride from Hungary, whose birth had been accompanied by such wonders, who had already won the gladness of peace for her own land?