impatience, her appearance before the great man for whom she was adorned
and the songs which she would have to sing. If she was permitted to
choose herself, he would also hear the bird-song, with the "Car la saison
est bonne," which had extorted such enthusiastic applause from the
Netherland maestro.

But no!

She must choose something grander, more solemn, for she wished to make a
deeper, stronger, more lasting impression upon the man who was now to
listen to her voice.

Mere lukewarm satisfaction would not content her in the case of the
Emperor Charles; she wished to arouse his enthusiasm, his rapture. What
bliss it would be if she was permitted to penetrate deeply into his soul,
if it were allotted to her to make the ruler's grave eyes sparkle with
radiant delight!

In increasing excitement, she saw herself, in imagination, lowering the
sheet of music, and the sovereign, deeply moved, holding out both hands
to her.

But that would have been too much happiness! What if the violent
throbbing of her heart should silence her voice? What if the oppressive
timidity, which conquers every one who for the first time is permitted to
stand in the presence of majesty, should cause her to lose her memory and
be unable to find the mood which she required in order to execute her
task with the perfection that hovered before her mind?

Yes, that would happen! With cruel self-torture she dwelt upon the