Wolfgang beat time, waggled his head, sung wofully out of tune as the song proceeded; and if he had not been too intoxicated with love and other excitement, he would have remarked how the pictures on the wall, as the lady sung, began to waggle their heads too, and nod and grin to the music.

The song ended.

"I am the lady of high lineage: Archer, will you be the peasant page ?" "I'll follow you to the devil!" said Wolfgang.
"Come," replied the lady, glaring wildly on him, "come to the chapel; we'll be married this minute!" She held out her hand--Wolfgang took it.

It was cold, damp,--deadly cold; and on they went to the chapel.
As they passed out, the two pictures over the wall, of a gentleman and lady, tripped lightly out of their frames, skipped noiselessly down to the ground, and making the retreating couple a profound curtsy and bow, took the places which they had left at the table.
Meanwhile the young couple passed on towards the chapel, threading innumerable passages, and passing through chambers of great extent.
As they came along, all the portraits on the wall stepped out of their frames to follow them.

One ancestor, of whom there was only a bust, frowned in the greatest rage, because, having no legs, his pedestal would not move; and several sticking-plaster profiles of the former Lords of Windeck looked quite black at being, for similar reasons, compelled to keep their places.