At length the last touch was given to the toilette, and they sallied forth. Already the streets were so crowded that it was difficult to move through them; but Carl and Krantz were determined, energetic fellows, and what with their elbows and Marguerite's bright smiles, after incurring a few risks of some jokes on Carl's extravagant appearance, they reached the great hall. The street in front of the Courthouse was lined with the burgher guard, stationed there to keep back the crowd; but Marguerite had an order for admittance at a private entrance, so, escorted by her cavalier, she ascended the staircase. When she entered the hall she was struck with awe and astonishment. The whole of that enormous space, with the exception of the portion railed off for the competitors and the dais where the council were sitting, was crowded by a dense mass of people: along the sides of the vast edifice, and up to the very roof, were arranged all the various productions of national art. Nothing can be pictured more beautiful than the combination of rich and varied colors, or more curious than the forms which art and genius had given them: here were dyes which might have rivaled those of Tyre, and fabrics of finer texture than a Penelope could have woven. At one end, toward which Marguerite's eyes were most anxiously turned, the models of the clocks were arranged. Dumiger's was placed in the center, for it was at the same time the largest model, and contained the most elaborate and complicated machinery; but, alas! the works remained still, while all the others were in motion, and showed in the smallest space the movements of the heavenly bodies, and the progress of time. If Dumiger's meant anything more than a confused mass of machinery, it could not for a moment be doubted that it was the work of highest genius exhibited, but in its quiescent state it contrasted disadvantageously with the admirable systems revolving round it. Marguerite held her breath while she gazed; neither did she perceive how much attention she herself had awakened--the moment for vanity had passed, her present interests lay far deeper. Immediately above her the Grand Council, with the Grand Master, were sitting, dressed in their robes of state. The Count Albrecht wore his cordon of the Fleece, and looked every inch a grand master; the anxiety for his son's success was apparent in the nervous glances which he cast around him. Behind, and amid the retainers, stood the dark, designing-looking stranger, who held in his hand the fate of Dumiger. The heralds proclaimed silence, and then the Grand Master rose to read the decision of the council. It commenced with reciting the list of the competitors, and when it mentioned Dumiger's name, it said, "the work is imperfect, and therefore must be withdrawn." "It is not imperfect," cried two stentorian voices from the farther end of the hall. The voices proceeded from Carl and Krantz, whose excitement could no longer be retained.