no! All was not yet lost!

Suppose she should summon courage to steal back to him and on her knees
repentantly beseech him to forgive her?

But she cherished this desire only a few moments. Then the angry,
wronged heart rebelled against such humiliation. She had not so shame
fully offended the Emperor, but the lover, and it was his place to
entreat her not to withdraw the love which made him happy.

The young girl raised her head with fresh courage. What had happened
more than she had expected?

Because he loved her, he had become jealous, and made her feel his
anger. But if she should now persistently withdraw from him, and let him
realize how deeply he had offended her, she could not fail to win the
game. In spite of all his crowns and kingdoms, he was only a man, and
must not she, who in a few brief hours had forced a Maurice of Saxony
to sue yearningly for her love, succeed by the might of her art and her
beauty in transforming the wrath of the far older man, Charles, into his
former passion?

If the Italian novels with which she was familiar did not lie, not only
jealousy, but apparent indifference on the part of the beloved object,
fanned the heart of man to burst into fresh flames.

It was only necessary to hold her impetuous temper in check, and profit
by the jealousy which had now been aroused in Charles's mind. Hitherto
she had always obeyed hasty impulses. Why should not she, too, succeed
in accomplishing a well-considered plan? With the torturing emotions
of failure, mortification, desertion, remorse, and yearning for
forgiveness, now blended the hope of yet bringing to a successful
conclusion the hazardous enterprise which she had already given up as
hopeless, and, while walking on, her brain toiled diligently over plans
for the campaign which would compel the great general to return with
twofold devotion the love of which he had deprived her.

So, in the intense darkness, she followed the light which the torches
cast upon the uneven path. At first she had taken up the train of her
dress; now it was sweeping the dusty road.

What did she care for the magnificent robe if she regained Charles's
love? Of what use would it be if she had lost it, lost it forever?

Before the litters reached the little castle a gust of wind rose,
driving large drops of rain, straw, and withered leaves-Barbara could
not imagine whence they came in the month of May--into her face. She was
obliged to struggle against these