ive enough, but Barbara had by no
means listened attentively. Instead, she had been anticipating, with
torturing impatience, her appearance before the great man for whom
she was adorned and the songs which she would have to sing. If she was
permitted to choose herself, he would also hear the bird-song, with the
"Car la saison est bonne," which had extorted such enthusiastic applause
from the Netherland maestro.

But no!

She must choose something grander, more solemn, for she wished to make
a deeper, stronger, more lasting impression upon the man who was now to
listen to her voice.

Mere lukewarm satisfaction would not content her in the case of the
Emperor Charles; she wished to arouse his enthusiasm, his rapture. What
bliss it would be if she was permitted to penetrate deeply into his
soul, if it were allotted to her to make the ruler's grave eyes sparkle
with radiant delight!

In increasing excitement, she saw herself, in imagination, lowering the
sheet of music, and the sovereign, deeply moved, holding out both hands
to her.

But that would have been too much happiness! What if the violent
throbbing of her heart should silence her voice? What if the oppressive
timidity, which conquers every one who for the first time is permitted
to stand in the presence of majesty, should cause her to lose her memory
and be unable to find the mood which she required in order to execute
her task with the perfection that hovered before her mind?

Yes, that would happen! With cruel self-torture she dwelt upon the
terrible dread, for she thought she had noticed that the best success
often followed when she had expected the worst result. Fran Lerch
perceived what was passing in her mind, and instilled courage until she
had finished her work and held up the mirror before Barbara.

The girl, whether she desired to do so or not, could not help looking
in. She did it reluctantly, and, after hastily assuring herself that
she was presentable, she turned the glittering disk away and would not
glance at it again.

She feared that the contemplation of her own image might disturb her;
she wished to think only of the worthy execution of her task, and the
shorter time she kept the Emperor waiting the less she need fear having
an ill-humoured listener.

So she hurriedly ejaculated a few words of gratitude to the old
attendant and seized the kerchief for her head, which she had taken to
Prufening with her; but the dressmaker wound around