changed her manner of speech; yet the expression of her eyes revealed
that she felt no really glad, unconstrained joy in her sons.

Though she denied it, she knew how to explain this manner to herself;
for, after her attention had been directed to it, she secretly admitted
that the sight of the two dear children who were wholly hers always
reminded her of the third who had been taken from her, whom she was
permitted to see very rarely, and only in secret, yet who, beside the
others, seemed like a young lion beside modest lambs.

She cherished no desire for a new love, though the lukewarm blending of
gratitude and good will which she bestowed upon her husband did not even
remotely deserve this lofty name.

There was no lack of gallants in Brussels who noticed and were
attracted by her, but whoever knew or had heard of Pyramus Kogel avoided
interfering with his rights; for he was numbered among the best swordsmen
in Brussels, and the air with which the tender-hearted husband wore his
long rapier was decidedly threatening.

Besides, Barbara herself also knew how to protect herself against any
intrusiveness with haughty sharpness.

To-day she was especially glad that Pyramus was absent on an inspecting
tour. She had gratefully enjoyed the meeting with her John. Never had
the light of his blue eyes seemed so sunny, his head with its fair curls
so angelic in its beauty. His voice, too, had enraptured her by its
really bewitching melody. The maternal gift of song would certainly
descend to him, and perhaps it was allotted to the Emperor's son to amaze
his generation by the presence of hero and singer in one person, like a