harmonized with her choice.

The fear that the Emperor Charles might yet commit the child she loved
to the monastery never left her. But she thought that she might induce
Heaven to relinquish its claim upon her John, whom, moreover, it seemed
to have destined for the secular life, by consecrating her youngest
child to its service.

While she did not forget her household, her mind was constantly in
Spain. Her walks were usually directed toward the palace, to inquire how
the recluse in San Yuste was faring, and whether any rumour mentioned
her imperial son.

After the great victory gained by Count Egmont against the military
forces of France, eleven months after the battle of St. Quentin, there
was enough to be seen in Brussels. The successful general was greeted
with enthusiastic devotion. Egmont's name was in every one's mouth, and
when she, too, saw the handsome, proud young hero, the idol, as it
were, of a whole nation, gorgeous in velvet, silk, and glittering gems,
curbing his fiery steed and bowing to the shouting populace with a
winning smile, she thought she caught a glimpse of the future, and
beheld the predecessor of him who some day would receive similar homage.

Why should she not have yielded to such hopes? Already there was
a rumour that the daughter of the Emperor and that Johanna Van der
Gheynst, who had been Charles's first love, Margaret of Parma, her own
son's sister, had been chosen to rule the Netherlands as regent.

Why should less honours await Charles's son than his daughter?

But the festal joy in the gay capital was suddenly extinguished, for in
the autumn of the year that, in March, had seen Ferdinand, the Emperor's
brother, assume the imperial crown, a rumour came that the recluse of
San Yuste had closed his eyes, and a few days after it was verified.

It was Barbara's husband who told her of the loss which had befallen her
and the world. He did this with the utmost consideration, fearing the
effect of this agitating news upon his wife; but Barbara only turned
pale, and then, with tears glittering in her eyes, said softly, "He,
too, was only a mortal man."

Then she withdrew to her own room, and even on the following day saw
neither her husband nor her children. She had long expected Charles's
death, yet it pierced the inmost depths of her being.

This sorrow was something sacred, which belonged to her and to her
alone. It would have seemed a profanation to reveal it to her unloved
hu