CHAPTER IV.

Dr. Mathys had himself carried in the litter from the Golden Cross to
Barbara.

This errand was a disagreeable one, for, though the Emperor's remark that
he had yielded to the rare charm of this woman was not true, his kindly
heart had become warmly attached to Barbara. For the first time he saw
in her the suffering which often causes a metamorphosis in certain traits
in a sick person's character extend their transforming power to the
entire nature. Passionate love for her art gave her the ability to
maintain with punctilious exactness the silence which he had been
compelled to impose upon her, and the once impetuous, obstinate creature
obeyed his directions and wishes with the patience of a docile child.

The manner in which, after he permitted her to speak, she had disclosed
in a low whisper her happy yet disquieting secret, hovered before him now
as one of the most pathetic incidents in a life full of varied
experiences.

How touchingly deep misery and the greatest rapture, gloomy anxiety and
radiant joy, bitter dread and sweet anticipation, despairing helplessness
and firm confidence had looked forth at him from the beautiful face whose
noble outlines were made still more delicate by the illness through which
she had passed! He could not have refused even a more difficult task to
this petitioner.