sor,
Bodart, whom he trained for the service, is skilful and makes every
effort, but he can not replace Adrian to his suffering master."

Then Frau Traut looked more closely at the letter, and began to
translate its contents.

"Of course," she began, "San Yuste is not like Brussels; but if they
think there that his Majesty lives like a monk and submits to the rules
of the monastery, they are misinformed."

Here she lowered the sheet; but Barbara's cheeks were glowing with
impatient interest, and she exclaimed with urgent warmth: "Oh, please,
read on! But where--it is probably in the letter--where is our child?"

"One thing after the other, as the letter communicates it," replied the
translator in a reproving tone; but her husband nodded soothingly to
Barbara, and said:

"Only this first: Our John is near his father, and there is something
especially good about him toward the end. Dona Magdalena is a true
Castilian--first the King, then her husband, then the others according
to their rank. It is different here and in your country. Patience and
you, Frau Barbara, have been bad friends ever since I knew you."

Barbara's sorrowful smile confirmed this statement, and when Frau Traut
at last went on, the tone of her voice betrayed how little she liked
interruptions just now.

"You were informed of his Majesty's safe landing at Quiposcoa. It was
pitiful to see how the people in his train who did not belong to the
number of those who were to accompany him to Jarandilla behaved at the
parting from their beloved master. The body-guards flung their halberds
on the pavement, and there were plenty of tears and lamentations. On
St. Blasius's day--[February 3, 1557]--his Majesty at last entered
San Yuste. Don Luis, as you know, had gone before to get the house in
readiness for his master. One could scarcely imagine a pleasanter spot,
for there is no greener valley than that of San Yuste in the whole range
of the Carpetano Mountains, nay, perhaps in all Spain. It is difficult
to describe how everything is growing and blossoming here now, in the
month of May. The little garden of the house is well kept and full of
beautiful orange trees. While blossoming, they exhale the most exquisite
perfume, and his Majesty enjoys the delicious fragrance which the wind
bears to him.

"In your noisy Brussels it is hard to imagine how quiet it can be here,
dear Senor Adrian. Nothing is to be heard save the carol of a bird, the
rippling of a c