nging developed all its heart-thrilling
power, the watchful lady in waiting perceived that his Majesty forgot
the food and hung on Barbara's lips as though spellbound.

This was something unprecedented. But when the monarch continued for
some time to display an abstemiousness so unlike him, the marquise cast
a hasty glance of inquiry at Malfalconnet. But the affirmative answer
which she expected did not come. Had the baron's keen eye failed to
notice so important a matter, or had his Majesty taken him into his
confidence and commanded him to keep the secret?

That Malfalconnet was merely avoiding making common cause with the
old intriguer, was a suspicion which vanity led her to reject the more
positively the more frequently her countryman sought her to learn what
he desired to know.

Besides, she soon required no further confirmation, for what now
happened put an end to every doubt.

Barbara had to sing the "Quia amore langueo" again, and how it sounded
this time to the listening hearer!

No voice which the Emperor Charles had ever heard had put such pure,
bewitching melody into this expression of the deepest yearning. It
seemed as though the longing of the whole world was flowing to him from
those fresh, young, beautifully formed red lips.

A heart which was not itself languishing for love could not pour forth
to another with such convincing truth, overwhelming power, and glowing
fervour the ardent longing of a soul seized by the omnipotence of love.

The mighty pressure of rising surges of yearning dashed against the
monarch's heart, and with tremendous impetuosity roused on all sides the
tender desires which for a long time had been gathering in his soul. It
seemed as though this "Because I long for love" was blending with the
long-repressed and now uncontrollable yearning that filled his own
breast, and he was obliged to restrain himself in order not to rush
toward this gifted singer, this marvellously lovely woman, whose heart
was his, and, before the eyes of all, clasp her in his embrace.

The master of dissimulation forgot himself, and--what a delight to
the eyes of the marquise!--the Emperor Charles, the great epicure and
thirsty drinker, left the pasty and the wine, to listen standing, with
hands resting on the table and outstretched head, to Barbara's voice.

It seemed as though he feared his ear might miss a note of this song,
his eye a movement of this source of melody.

But when the song ceased,