he marquise, and
conducted both ladies out of the imperial apartment.

Outside the door the major-domo detained Barbara, and had a tolerably
long conversation with her, of which the marquise vainly endeavoured to
catch even a few words.

At last he committed the girl to the old nobleman's charge and returned
to the Emperor.

The marquise received Barbara with the assurance that she had found in
her a warm, nay, a maternal friend.

If this beautiful creature was not alreadv the object of the Emperor's
love, the experienced old woman told herself, she must very soon become
so.

Yet there had never been a favourite at this monarch's court, and she
was curious to learn what position would be assigned to her.

After accompanying the girl intrusted to her care down the stairs with
flattering kindness, she committed her to the musicians and Wolf, who,
with old Blomberg, were awaiting her in the chapel with increasing
impatience. The captain had obtained admittance through Wolf.

At her first glance at Barbara the eyes of the old marquise had rested
on the glittering star which the Emperor had fastened on the lady of his
love.

The men did not notice it until after they had congratulated the singer
upon her exquisite performance and the effect which it had produced upon
his Majesty.

Maestro Gombert perceived it before the others, and Captain Blomberg and
Wolf rejoiced with him and Appenzelder over this tangible proof of the
imperial favour.

A conversation about the Emperor's judgment and the rarity with which he
bestowed such costly tokens of his regard was commencing in the chapel,
but Barbara speedily brought it to a close by the assurance that she was
utterly exhausted and needed rest.

On the way home she said very little, but when Wolf, in the second story
of the house, held out his hand in farewell, she pressed it warmly, and
thanked him with such evident emotion that the young man entered his
rooms full of hope and deep secret satisfaction.

After Barbara had crossed the threshold of hers, she said good-night to
her father, who wished to learn all sorts of details, alleging that she
could scarcely speak from weariness.

The old gentleman went to rest grumbling over the weakness of women in
these days, to which even his sturdy lass now succumbed; but Barbara
threw herself on her knees beside the bed in her room, buried her
face in the pillows, and sobbed aloud. Another feeling, however, soon
silenced h