her father, who wished to learn all sorts of details, alleging that she
could scarcely speak from weariness.

The old gentleman went to rest grumbling over the weakness of women in
these days, to which even his sturdy lass now succumbed; but Barbara
threw herself on her knees beside the bed in her room, buried her face in
the pillows, and sobbed aloud. Another feeling, however, soon silenced
her desire to weep. Her lover's image and the memory of the happy
moments which she had just experienced returned to her mind. Besides,
she must hasten to arrange her hair again, and--this time with her own
hands--change her clothing.

While she was loosening her golden tresses and gazing into the mirror,
her eyes again sparkled with joy. The greatest, the loftiest of mortals
loved her. She belonged to him, body and soul, and she had been
permitted to call him "her own."

At this thought she drew herself up still more haughtily in proud self-
consciousness, but, as her glance fell upon the image of the Virgin above
the priedieu, she again bowed her head.

Doubtless she desired to pray, but she could not.

She need confess nothing to the august Queen of Heaven. She knew that
she had neither sought nor desired what now burdened her heart so
heavily, and yet rendered her so infinitely happy. She had obeyed the
Emperor's summons in order to win approval and applause for her art, and
to afford the monarch a little pleasure and cheer, and, instead, the love
of the greatest of all men had flamed ardently from the earth, she had
left her whole heart with him, and given herself and all that was in her