Barbara was obliged to wait in the broad, lofty hall of the syndic's
house for the maid-servant, who announced her; and the stout man with the
big head, who had seized the knocker just before she entered, shared her
fate.

He was now leaning with bowed head against the wall, both hands clasped
under his beardless chin, and might have been taken for a monk re peating
his prayers. The long, brown doublet fastened around his hips by a Hemp
rope, instead of a girdle, made him resemble a Franciscan. But his
thick, flaxen hair lacked the tonsure, the rope the rosary, and he wore
coarse leather shoes on his large feet.

Barbara fancied that she had seen this strange figure somewhere, and he,
too, must have recognised her, for he bowed when she looked at him.
There was not the slightest movement of the body except the small eyes,
which wandered restlessly around the spacious room as if they missed
something.

The inquiry what he found lacking here was already rising to Barbara's
lips when the syndic's wife came toward her, preceded by her daughter
Martina, who, radiant with joy at seeing the ardently admired singer in
her own house, kissed her with fervent affection.

The mother merely extended her hand to Barbara, yet the whole manner of
the gentle, reserved woman showed that she was a welcome guest.

Frau Sabina loved and understood music, still enjoyed singing hymns with
the members of her household, and had done everything in her power to aid
the establishment of the Convivium musicum and foster its progress.