of her child of sorrow, who now promised to become a giver of joy to her.

Doubtless during the ensuing years many dark shadows fell upon her
existence and her heart; but when everything around and within was
gloomy, she only needed to think of the son whom she had given the
Emperor, and the constantly increasing brilliancy of his career, to raise
her head with fresh confidence. Yet the cloud obscuring her happiness
which she found it hardest to bear proceeded directly from him.

He had probably mentioned her to his royal brother, and revenues had
been granted her far exceeding poor Wawerl's dreams, and doubtless a
reflection of the admiration which her son earned fell upon her, and her
pride was greatly increased. Moreover, she could again devote herself
without fear to her ardently beloved art, for even honest old Appenzelder
declared that he liked to listen to her, though her voice still lacked
much of the overpowering magic of former days. She was in a position,
too, to gratify many a taste for whose satisfaction she had often
yearned, yet she could not attain a genuine and thorough new sense of
happiness.

The weeks which, a few years after her John's recognition, she spent with
self-sacrificing devotion beside her husband's couch of pain, which was
to become his deathbed, passed amid anxiety and grief, and when her
affectionate, careful nursing proved vain, and Pyramus died, deep and
sincere sorrow overpowered her. True, he had not succeeded in winning
her to return his tender love; but after he had closed his eyes she
realized for the first time what a wealth of goodness and fidelity was
buried with him and lost to her forever.

Her youngest boy, soon after his father's death, was torn from her by