had indeed
vanished. No!

Music still stirred his benumbed heart to swifter throbbing. He thought
of the pleasure which the previous evening had afforded, and suddenly
it seemed as if he again heard the "Quia amore langueo"--"Because I long
for love"--that had touched his soul the day before.

Yes, he, too, still longed for love, for a different, a warmer feeling
than the lukewarm blood of his royal mother had bestowed upon her
children, or the devotion of the sister to whom the chase was dearer
than aught else, certainly than his society.

But such thoughts did not befit this room, which was consecrated to
serious reflections. The anniversary summoned him to far different
feelings. Yet, powerfully as he resisted them, his awakened senses
continued to demand their rights, and, while he closed his eyes and
pressed his brow against the base of the altar covered with black cloth,
changeful images of happier days rose before him. He, too, had rejoiced
in a vigorous, strong, and pliant body. In the jousts he had been
sure of victory over even dreaded opponents; as a bull-fighter he had
excelled the matador; as a skilful participant in riding at the ring, as
well as a tireless hunter, he had scarcely found his equal. In the prime
of his youth the hearts of many fair women had throbbed warmly for him,
but he had been fastidious. Yet where he had aimed at victory, he had
rarely failed.

The sensuous, fair-haired Duchess of Aerschot, the dark-eyed Cornelia
Annoni of Milan, the devout Dolores Gonzaga, with her large, calm,
enthusiastic eyes, and again and again, crowding all the others into the
background, the timid Johanna van der Gheynst, who under her delicate
frame concealed a volcano of ardent passion. She had given him a
daughter whose head was now adorned by a crown. In spite of the brief
duration of their love bond, she had been clearer to him than all the
rest--clearer even than the woman to whom the sacrament of marriage
afterward united him. And she of whom seven years ago death had bereft
him?

At this question a bitter smile hovered around his full lips. How much
better love than hers he had known! And how easy Isabella had rendered
it not to weary of her, for during his long journeys and frequent
dangerous campaigns, instead of accompanying him, she had led in some
carefully guarded castle a life that suited her quiet tastes.

A sorrowful smile curled his lips as he recalled the agreement which
they had mad