come to Antwerp.

Don Fabrizio's wife summoned him to her palace, and Ulrich found her as
kind and sympathizing as when she had been a girl, but her gay, playful
manner had given place to a more quiet dignity.

She wished to be told in detail all he had suffered for Moor, how he
employed himself, what he intended to do in the future; and she even
sought him more than once in the riding-school, watched him at his work,
and examined his drawings and sketches.

Once she induced him to tell her the story of his youth.

This was a boon to Ulrich; for, although we keep our best treasures most
closely concealed, yet our happiest hours are those in which, with the
certainty of being understood, we are permitted to display them.

The youth could show this noble woman, this favorite of the Master, this
artist, what he would not have confided to any man, so he permuted her to
behold his childhood, and gaze deep into his soul.

He did not even hide what he knew about the "word"--that he believed he
had found the right one in the dungeon, and that Art would remain his
guiding star, as long as he lived.

Sophonisba's cheeks flushed deeper and deeper, and never had he seen her
so passionately excited, so earnest and enthusiastic, as now when she
exclaimed:

"Yes, Ulrich, yes! You have found the right word!