Seated near the chapel there was a man of impressive appearance. His dress betokened scrupulous care. His thick hair was as white as his cravat. His eyes were blue and sparkling, and full of youthful fire. He looked out upon the broad landscape, the valley crowded with fruit-trees, the near-lying hills, and the mountain beyond, whose lines stood out in bold relief against the blue sky above. He had a book in his hand, but now laid it aside and drank in the peaceful influences of the scene before him. The great door of the chapel was open: the mighty sounds of the organ were heard; a soft cloud of incense floated out on the morning air and then vanished into space. This impressive-looking man was the king's physician, Doctor Gunther, who, being a Protestant, had not attended mass. Just then, a beautiful woman, carrying an open sunshade, stepped out from the veranda which was almost concealed by trellised vines. She wore a full, white robe, and her headdress was a simple morning cap with blue ribbons. Her bright, rosy face beamed with youth and beauty; her hair was of a golden hue and she seemed the very incarnation of glorious day. The doctor, hearing the rustling of her dress, had at once advanced and made his obeisance. "Good-morning, doctor!" said the lady, whose two female companions had kept a few steps to the rear. Her voice was not clear and bright, but suggestive of the soulful violoncello-tone which is more properly the vehicle of intense and fervent feeling, than of loud-voiced joy. "What a charming day!" continued the lady; "and yet, for that very reason, doubly sad to those who are obliged to pass it in a sick-room. How is our dear Countess Brinkenstein?" "The countess, may it please Your Majesty, may safely take the air for an hour to-day." "I'm delighted to hear you say so. Sadness and sickness should indeed both be unknown in this lovely spot." "The countess must regard herself as doubly fortunate, now that she is able to perform the interesting duties that await her." "Speak softly," suddenly said the queen, for the sounds of the organ had ceased; the time of the consecration had arrived. "Ah, dear doctor, I should like to confide a secret to you." The other ladies stepped aside, while the queen and the doctor walked up and down on the open space in front of the chapel. "From one's physician, nothing should be kept concealed," said the doctor; "Your Majesty credited me, not long since, with the possession of a stethoscope by means of which I could note the movements of the soul itself." "Yes," replied the queen, her face mantled with blushes, "I've already thought of applying to you for ghostly advice, but that were impracticable; such matters I must settle for myself. But I've a request to make of you as the physician." "Your Majesty has but to command--" "No, that can't be done in this instance. What I meant was--"