d with his
inheritance; but Barbara learned in the room assigned to the musicians
that the noon performance had just been countermanded, and no special
reason had been given for the change.

The leader of the orchestra had been accustomed to submit to the
sovereign's arrangements as unresistingly as to the will of higher
powers, and Barbara also restrained herself.

True, wrath boiled and seethed in her breast, but before retiring
she only said briefly, with a seriousness which revealed the contempt
concealed beneath:

"You were quite right, Maestro Appenzelder. The Emperor considered my
voice nothing unusual, and nothing else is fit for the august ears of
his Majesty. Now I will go to the green woods."

The leader of the boy choir again did his best to detain her, for what
the noon denied the evening would bring, and Gombert aided him with
courteous flatteries; but Barbara listened only a short time, then,
interrupting both with the exclamation, "I force myself upon no one, not
even the highest!" she left the room, holding her head haughtily erect.

Appenzelder fixed his eyes helplessly upon the ground.

"I'd rather put a hoarse sailor or a croaking owl into my choir
henceforward than such a trilling fair one, who has more whims in her
head than hairs on it."

Then he went out to look for Wolf, for he, as well as Gombert, had
noticed that he possessed a certain degree of influence over Barbara.
What should he say to their Majesties if they ordered the choir for the
late meal and missed the voice about which the Queen had said so many
complimentary things in the Emperor's name?

Wolf had told him that he was summoned to the Town Hall. The maestro
followed him, and when he learned there that he had gone to the syndic,
Dr. Hiltner, he inquired the way to this gentleman's house.

But the knight was no longer to be found there. For the third time
the busy magistrate was not at home, but he had been informed that the
syndic expected him that afternoon, as he wished to discuss a matter of
importance. Dr. Hiltner's wife knew what it was, but silence had been
enjoined upon her, and she was a woman who knew how to refrain from
speech.

She and her daughter Martina--who during Wolf's absence had grown to
maidenhood--were sincerely glad to see him; he had been the favourite
schoolmate of her adopted son, Erasmus Eckhart, and a frequent guest
in her household. Yet she only confirmed to the modest young man, who
shrank