And with this sage remark Annette Veilchen tripped down stairs. CHAPTER IV. Tell me not of it--I could ne'er abide The mummery of all that forced civility. "Pray, seat yourself, my lord." With cringing hams The speech is spoken, and, with bended knee, Heard by the smiling courtier.--"Before you, sir? It must be on the earth then." Hang it all! The pride which cloaks itself in such poor fashion Is scarcely fit to swell a beggar's bosom. _Old Play._ Up stairs and down stairs tripped Annette Veilchen, the soul of all that was going on in the only habitable corner of the huge castle of Arnheim. She was equal to every kind of service, and therefore popped her head into the stable to be sure that William attended properly to Arthur's horse, looked into the kitchen to see that the old cook, Marthon, roasted the partridges in due time (an interference for which she received little thanks), rummaged out a flask or two of Rhine wine from the huge Dom Daniel of a cellar, and, finally, just peeped into the parlour to see how Arthur was looking; when, having the satisfaction to see he had in the best manner he could sedulously arranged his person, she assured him that he should shortly see her mistress, who was rather indisposed, yet could not refrain from coming down to see so valued an acquaintance. Arthur blushed when she spoke thus, and seemed so handsome in the waiting-maid's eye, that she could not help saying to herself, as she went to her young lady's room,--"Well, if true love cannot manage to bring that couple together, in spite of all the obstacles that they stand boggling at, I will never believe that there is such a thing as true love in the world, let Martin Sprenger say what he will, and swear to it on the Gospels." When she reached the young Baroness's apartment, she found, to her surprise, that, instead of having put on what finery she possessed, that young lady's choice had preferred the same simple kirtle which she had worn during the first day that Arthur had dined at Geierstein. Annette looked at first puzzled and doubtful, then suddenly recognised the good taste which had dictated the attire, and exclaimed,--"You are right--you are right--it is best to meet him as a free-hearted Swiss maiden." Anne also smiled as she replied,--"But, at the same time, in the walls of Arnheim, I must appear in some respect as the daughter of my father.--Here, girl, aid me to put this gem upon the riband which binds my hair." It was an aigrette, or plume, composed of two feathers of a vulture, fastened together by an opal, which changed to the changing light with a variability which enchanted the Swiss damsel, who had never seen anything resembling it in her life.