Brussels to accompany his gifts to her.

It was an easy task, for he had painted rather than written his poetic
homage, with beautiful ornaments on the initial letters, and in the most
careful red and black Gothic characters, which looked like print. So,
with a vivacity of intonation which harmonized with the extravagance of
the poetry, he began:

"Queen of my heart wert thou in days of old,
Beloved maid, in childhood's garb so plain;
I bring thee velvet now, and silk and gold
Though I am but a poor and simple swain
That in robes worthy of thee may be seen
My sovereign, of all thy sex the queen."

Barbara nodded pleasantly to him, saying: "Very pretty. Perhaps you
might arrange your little verse in a duo, but how you must have taxed
your imagination, you poor fellow, to transform the flighty good-for-
nothing whom you left five years ago into a brilliant queen!"

"Because, even at that time," he ardently exclaimed. "I had placed you
on the throne of my heart, because the bud already promised--Yet no! In
those days I could not suspect that it would unfold into so marvellous a
rose. You stand before me now more glorious than I beheld you in the
most radiant of all my dreams, and therefore the longing to possess you,
which I could never relinquish, will make me appear almost insolently
bold. But it must be risked, and if you will fulfil the most ardent
desire of a faithful heart--"

"Gently, my little Wolf, gently," she interposed soothingly. "If I am