rably, and in
one of the duets in the second part Johannes of Cologne could prove that
he had recovered.

His young companion in illness had also escaped lasting injury.

Appenzelder, too, showed himself fully satisfied with Barbara's
execution. Something new and powerful, rising from the inmost depth of
the soul, a passion of devout exaltation, rang in her voice which he had
not perceived during the first rehearsals. Her art seemed to him to
grow under his eyes like a wonderful plant, and the quiet, reserved man
expressed his delight so unequivocally that the Emperor beckoned to him
and asked his opinion of the singer's performance.

The musician expressed with unreserved warmth the emotions that filled
his honest heart; but the monarch listened approvingly, and drew from
his finger a costly ring to bestow it upon the discoverer of this
glorious jewel.

The leader of the choir, it is true, declined this title of honour to
award it to Sir Wolf Hartschwert; but the Emperor asserted that he
was grateful to him also for many a service, and then ordered the gold
chain, which had long been intended for him, to be brought for Maestro
Gombert.

After these tokens of favour, which awakened the utmost surprise in
those who were present, as the Emperor very rarely yielded to such
impulses of generosity, the monarch's eyes sought Barbara's, and his
glance seemed to say: "For your sake, love. Thus shall those who have
deserved it from you be rewarded."

Finally he accosted her, intentionally raising his voice as he did so.

Word for word was intended to be heard by every one, even the remark
that he wished to make the acquaintance of her father, whom he
remembered as a brave comrade. Barbara would oblige him if she would
request him to call upon him that afternoon. It was his duty to thank
the man through whose daughter he enjoyed such lofty pleasure.

CHAPTER XIX.

A short time after, the Emperor Charles, accompanied by the Queen of
Hungary and several lords and ladies, took a ride in the open air for
the first time after long seclusion.

According to his custom, he had spent Passion week in the monastery.
Easter had come on the latest day possible--the twenty-fifth of
April--and when he bade farewell to the monks the gout had already
attacked him again.

Now he rode forth into the open country and the green woods like a
rescued man; the younger Granvelle, long as he had been in his service,
had never seen him