harbingers of the coming tempest, and
her heart grew lighter during the conflict. She was not born to endure,
but to contend.

The scene of the festivities emptied rapidly. The duke and Granvelle
drove back to the city in the minister's carriage. Malfalconnet and
Quijada, in spite of the gathering storm, went home on foot.

"What a festival!" said Don Luis scornfully.

"In former days such things presented a more superb spectacle even here.
But now! No procession, no scarlet save on the cardinals, no golden
cross, no venerable priest's head on the whole pleasure ground, and,
moreover, neither consecration nor the pious exhortation to remember
Heaven, whence comes the joy in which the crowd is rejoicing."

"I, too, missed something here," cried the baron eagerly, "and now I
learn through you what it is."

"Will not the heretics themselves gradually feel that they are robbing
the pasty of faith of its truffles--what am I saying?--of its salt?
May their dry black bread choke them! The only thing that gave the
unseasoned meal a certain charm was the capitally performed gagliarde.

"Which angered his Majesty more deeply than you imagine," replied Don
Luis. "The singer's days are probably numbered. It is a pity! She was
wonderfully successful in subduing the spirits of melancholy."

"The war, on which we can now depend, will do that equally well, if not
better," interrupted the baron. "Within a short time I, too, have lost
all admiration for this fair one. Cold-hearted and arrogant. Capable of
the utmost extremes when her hot blood urges her on. Unpopular with
the people to whom she belongs, and, in spite of her bold courage,
surprisingly afraid of the Holy Inquisition. Here, among the heretics,
that gives cause for thought."

"Enough!" replied Don Luis. "We will let matters take their course. If
the worst comes, I, at least, will not move a finger in her behalf."

"Nor will I," said Malfalconnet, and both walked quietly on.

BOOK 2.

CHAPTER I.

Through the storm, which lashed her face with whirling clouds of dust
and drops of rain, Barbara reached the little Prebrunn castle.

The marquise had not yet left her litter. The wind had extinguished two
of the torches. One bearer walked in front of Barbara with his, and the
gale blew the smoking flame aside. But, ere she had reached the gate,
a man who had been concealed behind the old elm by the path stepped
forward to meet her. She started back and,