“Why, Ida, you have indeed craved a rare boon,” replied Walter; “and how to grant it may well puzzle my brain till it becomes crazed with the effort. But, let me see, let me see,” continued he musingly; “I have it!—Come hither, love, here is your throne,” said he, placing her on a gentle eminence richly covered with the fragrant wild thyme and the delicate harebell; “kings might now envy you the incense which is offered to you. And you, noble sir,” added he, addressing Burkhardt, “must stand beside her Highness, in quality of chief counsellor. There are your attendants around you; behold that tall oak, he must be your Highness’s pursuivant; and yonder slender mountain ashes, your trusty pages.” “This is but a poor fulfilment of the task you have undertaken, Sir mummer,” said Ida, with a playful and arch affectation of disappointment. “Have patience for a brief while, fair dame,” replied Walter, laughing; “for now I must awaken your Highness’s men-at-arms.” Then, taking from his side a silver horn, he loudly sounded the melodious reveille. As he withdrew the instrument from his lips, a trumpet thrillingly answered to the call; and scarcely had its last notes died away, when, from the midst of the woods, as if the very trees were gifted with life, came forth a troop of horsemen, followed by a body of archers on foot. They had but just entirely emerged, when numerous peasants, both male and female, appeared in their gayest attire; and, together with the horsemen and the archers, rapidly and picturesquely ranged themselves in front of the astonished Ida, who had already abdicated her throne, and clung to the arm of Walter. They then suddenly divided, and twelve pages in richly-emblazoned dresses advanced. After them followed six young girls, whose forms and features the Graces might have envied, bearing two coronets placed on embroidered cushions. In the rear of these, supporting his steps with his abbatial staff, walked the venerable Abbot of St. Anselm, who, with his white beard flowing almost to his girdle, and his benign looks that showed the pure commerce of the soul which gave life to an eye the brightness of which seventy years had scarcely diminished, seemed to Ida a being of another world. The young girls then advancing, and kneeling before Walter and his wife, presented the coronets. Ida, who had remained almost breathless with wonder, could now scarcely articulate,— “Dear, dear Walter, what is all this pomp—what does—what _can_ it mean?” “Mean! my beloved,” replied her husband; “did you not bid me make you a duchess? I have but obeyed your high commands, and I now salute you, _Duchess_ of Zähringen!” The whole multitude then made the woods resound with the acclamation,— “_Long live the Duke and Duchess of Zähringen!_” Walter, having for some moments enjoyed the unutterable amazement of the now breathless Ida, and the less evident but perhaps equally intense surprise of Burkhardt, turning to the latter, said,—