"Not in his choir, certainly," said the young nobleman. "But this voice
--allow me to repeat it--is not at his disposal. It was no easy matter
to obtain it at all, and, keenly as the maestro disapproves of the
caprices of this beautiful power, he can not force it--the power, I mean
--to the obedience which his boys----"

Here the Emperor laughed shrilly. "The power, the voice! The
songstress, you should say. This whimsical volunteer with the voice of
an angel, who is so tenderly treated by rough Appenzelder, is a woman,
not a refractory choir boy. How you are blushing! You have proved a
very inapt pupil in the art of dissimulation and disguise in my royal
sister's service. Really and truly, I am right!"

Here another bow from Wolf confirmed the Emperor's conjecture; but the
latter, highly pleased with his own penetration, laughed softly,
exclaimin, to the baron: "Where were our ears? This masquerade is surely
the work of the Queen, who so dearly loves the chase. And she forbade
you too, Malfalconnet, to give me your confidence?" Again a silent bow
assented.

The Emperor bent his eyes on the ground a short time, and then said, half
in soliloquy: "It was not possible otherwise. Whence could a boy learn
the ardent, yearning longing of which that 'Quia amore langueo' was so
full? And the second, less powerful voice, which accompanied her, was
that a girl's too? No? Yet that also, I remember, had a suggestion of
feminine tenderness. But only the marvellously beautiful melody of one
haunted me. I can hear it still. The irresistible magic of this 'Amore
langueo' mingled even in my conversation with Granvelle."

Then he passed his hand across his lofty brow, and in a different tone